


We were friends and lovers and clueless clowns.

by orphan_account



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Developing Relationship, Football, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-30
Updated: 2014-01-22
Packaged: 2018-01-06 19:38:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 21,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1110738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mesut and Fabio are both twenty-five, but their lives are complete opposites.</p><p>Mesut will have to decide whether he wants to grow up or not. </p><p>Fabio will have to decide what kind of love is the true kind of love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Catching Fire? I'd rather catch you.

**Catching Fire? I’d rather catch you.**

“Okay, let me just start by saying that I am incredibly sorry,” Fabio sighed, after he had opened his front door.

Mesut stood on the porch, carrying a six-pack of beer. “You’re not cancelling now, are you?” he asked, raising his left eyebrow.

Fabio shook his head. “I am not, but you might want to,” he mumbled.

“Are you kidding me? Why should I—I want to see the movie, man,” he said.

Fabio sighed again. “The problem is, Vitória is here. I thought my mom would babysit her tonight, but she was called away,” he said.

Mesut shrugged. “So?” he asked.

Fabio looked up surprised. “It means that I probably have to stand up every fifteen minutes if she can’t sleep, you do realize that, right?” he asked.

Mesut smiled, and stepped inside. “I think I’ll manage,” he winked, walking into the large living room. Vitória was crawling on the carpet, holding a cup of the Wedgewood crockery.

“Oh baby, sweety—please put that down,” Fabio said, hurrying to crouch down next to the 14-month-old girl. He gently took the cup from her chubby fingers, and picked her up.

“Say hi to uncle Mesut,” he whispered in her ear, placing a wet kiss on her cheek. The girl giggled, and stretched out her hands to Mesut.

Fabio looked hesitantly at his friend. They were almost the same age; but so different at the same time. Here he was, holding his child, married and divorced—and then there was Mesut. The normal twenty-five-year-old, enjoying the single life; mostly out clubbing on Saturday nights like this.

But Mesut also stretched out his arms, and took the girl from his arms. “Hello, little princess,” he smiled, and Vitória started drooling all over his thumb.

Fabio groaned. “Sweety-puppet, don’t make me look bad,” he muttered to his girl, but Mesut just had to laugh. “She’s got your manners,” he grinned.

Fabio couldn’t help but crack a smile. He glanced at the clock over his shoulders, which read eight-thirty. “I should probably take her to bed now. If you want, the glasses are in the cabinet. I don’t know how long it will take to put her to bed tonight,” Fabio offered.

Mesut tore his eyes away from the little girl, who was now suckling on her own thumb. “Nah, I think I will supervise you—just to make sure you won’t hold her upside down when you change her into her PJs,” he grinned.

Fabio faked an insulted look. “Hey, I’m the father here. I know how to change my own daughter,” he protested.

Mesut shrugged. “I just want to see you in all your father-ness,” he teased, kicking Fabio’s butt lightly to direct him towards the stairs.

Fabio took the first few steps, and turned around. “You’re not going to let her go, are you?” he asked.

“Nope, she’s mine,” Mesut smiled. Fabio ignored the flutters in his stomach as Mesut said those words, and walked further up the stairs.

\--- 

Mesut leaned on his forearms, which laid on the edge of the crib, looking at Fabio.

Fabio adjusted the blanket a little, tucking it over at the end. Mesut heard him faintly humming a song, and as Vitória’s eyelids started to drop, he also felt himself getting calmer. His heart rate went back to the normal pace—after it had been picked up by seeing Fabio, in this environment.

Here, Fabio was a dad, caring and loving—so different from what you saw of him on the pitch. Mesut couldn’t help the tingles in his fingers, he wanted to stand behind Fabio, wrap his arms around Fabio’s waist and look at Vitória together.

But he shouldn’t, so he didn’t.

“I can imagine she would want to wake up again, if it meant you singing the lullaby again as well,” Mesut whispered.

Fabio looked up, and Mesut was pretty sure he saw a blush spreading on Fabio’s cheeks. It made him look sexy—Mesut pushed the thought away immediately. It was inappropriate to think about sexy when bringing a baby to bed, he told himself.

Fabio leaned back a little, and nodded slowly. “I think she’s asleep,” he smiled, and he moved towards the door, holding it open for Mesut. Mesut walked past him, and softly went down the stairs.

Fabio followed, and let out a relieved sigh when they got to the kitchen. “I swear, normally it takes an hour to get her to close her eyes—but this time, I think she was already half asleep in your arms,” he smiled to Mesut.

“Yeah well, I told her stories about you on the pitch, and that must’ve bored her enough to fall asleep,” he teased.

Fabio kicked in the direction of his shin, but didn’t reach it by an inch. Mesut slowly took in the way Fabio looked tonight. He wore socks, his jeans tucked into them—it looked ridiculous—and he also wore one of those horrendous Christmas sweaters with reindeers on them. He looked like a typical young-family dad, and Mesut couldn’t help but lick his lips.

He slapped himself mentally; most people would get turned on by—I don’t know—Victoria’s Secret, and here _he_ was, getting turned on by this.

He averted his gaze, and took two bottles of beer out. Fabio grabbed glasses from the cabinet, and together they walked towards the couch. Mesut slumped down, and Fabio grabbed the remote control from the table.

“You sure you don’t want to see this one in the cinema?” Fabio asked him, turning on the television.

Mesut shook his head. “And get ogled throughout the whole movie? No thanks,” he said, adjusting the pillows behind him.

Fabio went through the menu of the special-offers on his television, and clicked at The Hunger Games, Catching Fire. The music welled up from the surround-sound stereo system, and Mesut adjusted his back against the pillows, sighing relieved.

Fabio wriggled, and moved around—Mesut raised his eyebrows. Fabio blushed. “I normally lay down onto the couch,” he explained.

Mesut placed a pillow on his lap, patting it. “Then do that, it’s your house,” he grinned.

Fabio blushed again, and shook his head. “No, I’m not going to lay my head on your lap,” he said.

Mesut groaned, and pulled at Fabio’s ugly sweater, tugging him towards him. Fabio cautiously laid his head down onto Mesut’s lap, turning to lay on his side to face the television.

Mesut swallowed hard, and looked down at Fabio’s face. From this angle, he could see Fabio’s hair totally different, and he clenched his fingers into a fist to restrain himself from ruffling softly through Fabio’s hair.

Fabio let out a relieved sigh, placing his hand next to his face, on Mesut’s knee. Mesut tried to keep his focus on the screen, where the first names were being showed. But his gaze kept falling onto his lap, looking at Fabio’s beautiful face.

He felt all of his blood streaming down, collecting in his lower abdomen.

“Oh fuck,” he muttered.

Fabio moved to lay on his back, and looked up at Mesut with a worried look in his eyes. “You okay?” he asked.

Mesut bit his lip, but let his index-finger trace along Fabio’s jaw. “You laying with your head in my lap is—uhm—distracting,” he muttered.

Realization dawned in Fabio’s eyes, and his friend got up. He turned back to Mesut, and looked apologetic. “Sorry,” he mumbled.

Mesut let out a shaky laugh. “You’re apologizing for turning me on?” he asked. Fabio nodded, then shook his head, but nodded again.

“Come here,” Mesut groaned, tugging at the collar of Fabio’s sweater.

Fabio obediently slid closer, and Mesut wrapped his arm around Fabio’s waist. He inched closer some more, and saw the flickers of heat, lust and something stronger than all that illuminating Fabio’s eyes.

He leaned in, his gaze dropping to Fabio’s red lips.

Until suddenly, a cry was heard from upstairs.

For a second, Mesut thought he imagined it—but then he saw the emotions drift away out of Fabio’s eyes. Fabio shot back.

“I can’t,” he blurted.

Mesut was too baffled to respond initially, but as Fabio got up from the couch, he regained his voice. “Why not?” he asked, and he thought it sounded pathetic.

Fabio sighed, shaking his head. “I’m divorced for two months now, Mes, and I have to take care of a baby on my own. I can’t deal with this now, not on top of it all,” he said softly, and Mesut felt a louder, more painful crumble in his chest than he had imagined at first.

He realized he hadn’t said anything yet—but what was right to say at a moment like this?

“I should go,” he blurted—grabbing his coat, which he had laid over the back of the couch.

He looked at Fabio, his mind yelling _grab onto me, make me stay_ , but Fabio just clenched his hands tightly together, looking at the floor.

Mesut waited another five seconds, and then walked towards the door.

He threw it close behind him, harder than he intended to.

 


	2. I'll be damned if I ever turn out like you.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mesut goes from Fabio's place to Cristiano's, hoping for some understanding from the other Portuguese.

**Chapter 2**

He wasn’t only angry. He was mainly just confused and his head was spinning from all the emotions that were flooding through him.

Mesut stepped off the porch, and walked onto the street. He looked at his car, which was in the lot at the end of the lane, and then looked at the other side of the road, where Cristiano’s house was.

It was still early, the sun was setting, casting a orange beam over the road. The scents of summer trickled in his nostrils, and he crossed the road. He pressed the button of the intercom, and seconds later, the gate opened and Mesut stalked up towards Cristiano’s front door.

His friend held the door open, and smirked at Mesut’s distraught look.

“I am so confused!” Mesut bristled, walking past Cristiano into the house. Cristiano held Cris Jr. in his arms, and rolled his eyes at his son, before closing the door.

“Please, do come in,” he sighed, as he walked into his living room. Mesut had already slumped down onto the couch, and Cristiano swore he saw puffs of steam leaving his ears.

“Cris, go to your room, daddy will be there in a minute,” he said to his son, as he put him down. Cris Jr. stomped happily towards the stairs, and disappeared.

“Mesut, whatever it is, I can tell you beforehand that you are wrong,” he stated simply, sitting down onto a white leather chair across the fireplace.

Mesut’s eyes got big. “You don’t even know what’s wrong!” he sputtered.

Cristiano shrugged. “You didn’t pull into my driveway with your car, meaning it’s probably in the lot—meaning that you weren’t on your way to me. And guess what, Fabio happens to live across from me,” Cristiano faked surprise.

“So, here it comes. I bet that you went to Fabio’s, made a move to which Fabio rejected you and now you are moping on my couch to talk about your feelings,” Cristiano stated.

Mesut crossed his arms, and pouted to the floor. “He looked like he was into it,” he countered to his defence.

Cristiano nodded and shrugged. “He probably was. But—just a wild guess of some sort—Fabio was pulled back to the land of the living because Vitória asked for his attention?” he asked.

Mesut groaned. “Why do you even know this, did he call you in the thirty seconds it took for me to get to your house?” he asked.

“No, Mesut. You may not see it, but me and Fabio are alike,” Cristiano stated.

Mesut scoffed. “You guys are as much alike as—well as—nothing,” Mesut stuttered.

Cristiano shifted his gaze on his ceiling and sighed—what a way to ruin ones perfect evening. “This, everything you are saying, already testifies on itself that you and Fabio are just wrong for each other. Get that in your head, Mesut,” he sighed.

Mesut frowned. “Auch, that's harsh,” he countered.

Cristiano shrugged. “It’s true. You are just looking for someone to hold you, and kiss you, and Fabio is not someone who is going to do that. I can assure you,” he said.

“I’m not looking for that at all,” Mesut said.

Cristiano raised his eyebrows. “So you are actually saying that you are in this for the long haul? Are you willing to get up at 2 am because Vitória needs her diaper changed? You will be okay with his daughter interrupting sex?-- because I assure you, that will happen. You are absolutely certain that you want to pick her up from kindergarten, kiss her wounds when she falls and take her to birthday parties with princesses and tiaras?” Cristiano summed up, counting on his fingers.

Mesut’s eyes got big. “God, _no_. I want Fabio, I don’t want to be a dad,” he sputtered.

Cristiano held his arms up, as if that explained everything. “And that is the reason why you guys don’t fit together. Mesut, just fucking get it by now. A relationship with Fabio automatically means a relationship with his daughter. There is no escaping that,” Cristiano stated.

Mesut pouted and crossed his arms tighter around himself. “It’s not fair,” he mumbled.

“What isn’t?” Cristiano asked.

“The fact that he’s the same age as me, but he has these roots in the earth in the form of a daughter. I thought that at this age, I could fall in love with everyone, since no one binds himself at fucking twenty-five,” Mesut groaned, holding his hand against his forehead.

Cristiano sighed, stood up and walked towards the cabinet. He poured a glass of whisky.

“I thought you didn’t drink?” Mesut asked him.

“I don’t,” Cristiano said, handing the glass to Mesut. “But you look like you need it.” M

esut took a sip, and nodded. As Cristiano sat back down, Mesut sighed deeply. “I think you’re right. We’re too different, and I am too selfish to change my whole way of life,” he mumbled.

Cristiano nodded. “You might feel like shit now, but once you meet a guy who’s just like you, it will all blow over,” he stated.

Mesut shrugged, not seeming convinced that he would forget Fabio that easily. “How come you and Fabio never got together?” he suddenly asked, looking at Cris.

Cristiano raised his eyebrows in question.

“You both have kids, and by the way you cited all those things, I think you know exactly what it is to give up your own selfish life for another person,” Mesut said.

Cristiano rolled his eyes. “I have a son, Mesut. Of course I get it, and of course he will always be my number one. Like I just told you, me and Fabio are alike. Too much. I focus on Cris, he focuses on Vitória. That's it,” he stated simply.

He looked so content with his life, with the fact that he gave a lot of it up for Cristiano Jr., that it almost frightened Mesut.

“But, don’t you ever regret it, taking full custody of Cristiano?” he asked.

His friend scoffed. “What should I regret?” he asked.

Mesut shrugged. “You know, going on on Saturday nights. Sleeping in on Sunday because you’re hung over. House parties, having sex at any time you like, not caring how late you should return home,” Mesut cited.

Cristiano shook his head throughout the whole time his friend spoke. “You don’t notice that yet, Mesut. But that’s the emptiest life there is,” he said softly.

Mesut rolled his eyes. “It’s _the best_ , Cris. No roots, no commitments, no one to answer to. Don’t you want that back?” he asked.

The door of the living room opened, and Cristiano Jr. peeped around the corner. “Daddy, I can’t find my bunny," he said softly.

Cristiano got up from the couch, and walked towards the door. He turned around to face Mesut. “Oh, and the answer to that question is no. I will never in a million years want that life back,” he stated calmly. He picked up Cristiano Jr. and carried him upstairs, in search for his son’s bunny.

Mesut downed his glass of whisky and walked towards the door. He felt himself practically getting old and boring by just talking to Cristiano.

So he closed the front door behind him, and walked down the driveway towards the street.

The lights in Fabio’s house were out, and Mesut rolled his eyes. Fabio was probably going to bed, around ten pm, on a Saturday night.

Mesut took out his phone, searched for a nearby club and scoffed.

_He’ll be damned if he will ever be like Fabio and Cristiano._


	3. Can't get you out of my system.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been one week since the incident, and things are Weird. With a capital W.

**Chapter 3**

It had been a week since the incident with Mesut almost kissing him, and Fabio was desperately trying to forget it. Thankfully, he had his hands full on his daughter and his job so it went quite well.

“Last one,” he mumbled, dangling the spoon in front of Vitória’s mouth. She opened her mouth obediently and ate the last glob of squashed banana. Fabio grabbed a small towel from the table, and wiped his daughter’s mouth clean. “Tada, you look like a _princesa_ again,” he smiled.

He heard the front door open, and the quick footsteps of Cristiano Jr. came in his direction.

“Tori, tori,” he chirped happily. Cristiano was right behind him, and gave Fabio a quick peck on the cheek.

“I love your mom,” he stated.

Alexandra just came down the stairs, carrying a few of Vitória’s toys. “Ah, thank you Cristiano,” she smiled.

Cristiano grinned and crouched down to meet his sons eyes. “Mrs. Coentrão is going to look after you and Tori. Be nice, and I will be back soon,” he said, kissing his son’s hair. Cristiano Jr. nodded, and then looked up at Vitória in her chair, making grabby hands at her.

Alexandra looked at the clock. “It’s time for you boys to go, I will clean up the kitchen. Cristiano, what time would Dolores come over?” she asked.

“Around eleven I think. We’ll finish training around noon, and then there’s this lunch which we have to attend,” he said.

Fabio nodded. “We’ll be back around three, or later. Depends on how fast Pepe eats probably,” he grinned.

Alexandra laughed, and kissed her son’s cheek. “Have fun boys,” she said, and Fabio grabbed his bag from the floor.

“Bye, my little angel,” he whispered to Vitória, and he kissed her cheek.

Cristiano looked sideways at him, as they got into the car. “What?” Fabio asked him, putting his key in the contact.

“You look like you just buried your grandma,” Cristiano stated.

Fabio crooked a smile. “I just don’t like leaving Vitória alone for a long time,” he said, curling the car out of his driveway.

“Yeah, me neither. I have to restrain myself every minute to text my mom how Cris is doing, whenever I’m away longer than three hours,” Cristiano said.

Fabio nodded. “Exactly, that’s the same with me,” he said, putting his blinker on and speeding up the highway.

\----

“What’s with the long face, May-soot?” Sergio grinned.

Mesut kicked his shin, and frowned. “It’s Mesut, and nothing. I’m fine,” he said. He tore his gaze away from Cristiano and Fabio, and returned to his sit-ups.

Sergio followed the direction to where his eyes had stuck to a minute ago. “Fabio? _Still?_ ” Sergio groaned. Mesut shrugged, panting a little as he pushed himself back up.

“I thought you fucked him out of your system after last week?” Sergio asked.

Mesut shrugged again. Sergio kicked against his knee, demanding an answer. Mesut sighed, and sat up. He placed his elbows on his knees and looked in the direction of Fabio, who was laughing with Pepe and Cristiano.

“Turns out, he’s not leaving my head that easily,” he mumbled.

Sergio patted his shoulder sympathetically. “You should hit the clubs with us tonight again,” he suggested.

“Who is us?” Mesut asked. “Marcelo, Pepe, perhaps even Alvaro too,” he said.

“Which one?” Mesut asked.

“Baby Alvaro,” Sergio smiled, wiggling his eyebrows.

“Would you stop that? It was a onetime thing,” Mesut said, averting Sergio’s gaze.

“Yes, and you were both high as a kite. But maybe it can happen again, no?” Sergio said.

Mesut shrugged. “Everything is possible,” he said. Sergio smiled, but Mesut thought.

“That’s actually what is so great about being single, right?” he mumbled. Sergio raised his eyebrows in question.

“That everything is possible. You can do whatever the fuck you want,” Mesut explained.

Sergio sensed the shift in Mesut’s mood and nodded. “Yes, that’s basically the best thing about it, yeah,” he said. “But don’t you ever get jealous?”

Mesut raised his eyebrows. _Where the fuck did that question come from?_

“Jealous of what?” he asked.

Sergio shrugged. “You know, coming home to someone’s open arms. Knowing that you will always have a secure base, even if everything is going to fall apart,” he said.

Mesut scoffed. “My life isn’t even close to falling apart, and every time I come home—I am either too tired or too drunk to notice that I am alone,” he stated.

Sergio smiled, and shrugged. “I should’ve known. You will stay the most eligible bachelor until you’re ninety,” he grinned, and he got up.

“Hey, I try,” Mesut boasted, and Sergio shoved him playfully.

But somewhere inside, Mesut shivered at the thought of being alone at the age of ninety.

\--- 

And of course, because the Universe hated him for drinking and fucking around, he had to sit at Fabio’s table. Not just together though, thank fuck.

Marcelo was there, Cristiano, Iker, Xabi and Diego as well. Iker bored him to death about all kinds of things Sara was going through at the moment, and Mesut had to restrain himself from yelling: _I don’t care about your wife’s fucking pregnancy. Just stop getting pregnant everyone!_

So he turned to Diego, but then Diego got out his wallet and showed him pictures of his kids. Mesut nodded and smiled politely, but in his head; he was yawning and wanting this lunch to end already.

And it certainly didn’t help that Fabio seemed to be having a great time in front of him. Cristiano was very lively telling a story about how Cris. Jr had ruined his favourite Gucci shirt during a meal, and Fabio laughed heartily. _Oh, babies. So cute. So adorable. So amazing._ Mesut rolled his eyes, and swallowed multiple snarky, sarcastic comments.

But Fabio liked Cristiano’s stories, and Cristiano liked Fabio’s stories so they kept on telling each other all the hilarious things their kids did. And then Diego heard what they were talking about, and he also contributed a stone to the conversation.

And of course, because the Universe just wanted to say _Fuck you, Mesut!_ Iker also started asking questions on how to behave during child-birth.

“Guys! I feel like we’re at some sort of women’s tea party!” Mesut suddenly blurted out.

The table of fathers—or soon to-be fathers—fell silent, and gaped at him.

Fabio cleared his throat. “Since the fathers here are in the bigger numbers, I suppose you suck it up,” he smiled.

Mesut felt the urge to stick out his tongue, but that would be childish. “Yes, Mesut. There’s a spot free next to Sergio,” Cristiano added, pointing over his shoulder.

Mesut actually thought about it, but then he realized it would be really weird if he would walk away just because he wanted to avoid talking about kids.

“Whatever. And by the way, the only kid I like is Vitória,” he stated. Everyone except Fabio made insulted gasps. “Whut? She didn’t try to bite me,” Mesut shrugged.

Cristiano barked out a laugh. “That was because he was sad, okay. And you held him the wrong way,” he sputtered.

“I didn’t, you just dropped him in my arms,” said Mesut, defending. Fabio kept silent, a ghost of a smile twirling around the corners of his lips.

Alvaro Arbeloa walked over, and motioned to Cristiano to scoot over a bit. “This chair is already too small for my muscled legs, find your own,” Cristiano said.

“I think you mean huge ass. And there is more than enough space, move over,” Alvaro said, and Cristiano shot him a glare.

He did scoot over a bit, and Alvaro sat down on the other half of the chair. Cristiano slumped his arm around Alvaro’s shoulder to keep him from falling off.

“I feel all sorts of negative vibrations coming off this table. Spit it out,” Alvaro said, looking at the men one by one.

“Mesut here doesn’t want to talk about kids. They make him sick,” Fabio pointed out. _Oh wow, now you’re talking to me,_ Mesut thought sarcastically.

“They do not make me sick. It’s just a boring subject,” he said, glaring at Fabio.

“Boring, no way, man. Listen, the other night Alba did the most funniest thing—”

Mesut groaned and let his head fall on top of the table.

“Drama queen,” Fabio muttered, but Mesut saw him smile.

The flutters in his stomach told him he was nowhere near being over him.


	4. You're in my heart. And I hate it.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pepe is trying to convince Fabio to give Mesut a chance. Fabio explains why is isn't going to.

**Chapter 4**

It’s the week of international duties, and Fabio was laying on his bed in the hotel room. Cristiano was fixing his hair, talking to Pepe, who sat at the end of Fabio’s bed, tickling the soles of Fabio’s feet every once in a while.

“Why are you so quiet?” Pepe asked Fabio, and he scooted over a bit. He sat against the headboard, and pulled Fabio’s head against his chest. Fabio didn’t mind, Pepe had been touchy feely with him ever since he got the divorce. Pepe was convinced Fabio needed a shoulder to cry on—and yes, his friend was right, sometimes.

Fabio shrugged. “Nothing,” he mumbled.

“He misses Mesut,” Cristiano stated simply, putting his comb down.

“I am not,” Fabio frowned.

Pepe shot Cristiano a warning glance, and turned towards Fabio again. “Do you want to talk about it?” he asked sweetly.

Cristiano laughed, shaking his head. “Pepe, Fabio is fine. He doesn’t need a psychiatrist, right Fab?” he asked. Fabio shrugged again.

Pepe raised his eyebrows. “I take that as a yes, so come. Let’s go for a walk,” Pepe said, as he stood up.

Fabio looked at the clock. “It’s late, we all should go to sleep,” he stated.

Pepe grinned. “Cristiano just fixed his hair, no way he’s going to bed,” he smirked.

Cristiano kicked Pepe’s butt softly, but nodded at Fabio. “Don’t hold your horses for me, babes. Go talk to you shrink,” he smiled.

Fabio groaned, and he got out of his bed. Pepe threw his shoes towards him, and he put them on.

“Why does Cristiano call you  _babes_?” Pepe asked, once they got to the lobby of the hotel. Fabio looked around for any of the crew members, avoided Pepe's gaze and shrugged. “Because he is Cris,” he stated, as if that explained everything.

They walked through the front door of the hotel, and the warm air of Portugal’s summer nights surrounded them. The street was empty, and the lights spread soft, yellow beams on the pavement.

“So, talk to me. What is it with Mesut?” Pepe asked.

Fabio looked sideways at his friend. “Why do you think it has anything to do with Mesut?” he asked.

Pepe smiled. “Because Mesut is pouting every time you warm up with Cristiano, and Cris just mentioned it—I’m just keeping my eyes and ears open,” he said.

Fabio sighed. “I miss him. Which is totally weird,” he said.

Pepe shrugged and tugged at Fabio’s sleeve, turning the corner. “I miss Marcelo, is that weird too?” he asked.

“No, you and Marcelo—that’s different. You are, what do you call it? BFFs?” Fabio mumbled. “Mesut… I think he’s in love with me.”

Pepe looked at him sideways, eyes big. “Mesut? In  _love_? Yeah, right. I don’t think so, Fab,” he said incredulously, shaking his head.

“Well, he did try to kiss me,” Fabio mumbled.

Pepe raised his eyebrows, his head shaking in confusion. His curls bounced along. “And what did you do?” he asked.

“I shot back, when Vitória started to cry.  _Thank God_. Can you imagine the shit I would be in if I kissed him?” Fabio asked.

“What’s so bad about kissing Mesut? Does he have bad breath?” Pepe asked, wrinkling his nose.

Fabio chuckled softly, and shook his head. “No, but think about it. Me—and everything that I am. And then Mesut—and everything he is. That’s like mixing cream with gravel,” Fabio stated.

Pepe frowned at the weird comparison, but he got what his friend was trying to say. “Still, if you like him—”

“That’s not the point here, Pepe. The point is that he is too selfish to change his lifestyle, and I am too wrapped up in Vitória and keeping my head above the water,” Fabio sputtered.

“But still, you could try?” Pepe offered.

Fabio scoffed. “And have my heart broken because Mesut is everything I am  _not_ looking for?” he asked. “If I will get another relationship, it must be with someone who has his life on track. Not with a—a boy practically—who spends his millions on cars and clubbing and houses. Mesut is immature. And I can’t do immature,” Fabio stated.

“But you’re not even giving him a chance!” Pepe sputtered.

“I know him, Pepe. This is empirical. God, whose side are you on in this?” he asked, frowning at his friend.

“Put your tampon back in, Fab. I’m on your side—but I’m just saying—nothing good ever comes from suppressing your feelings towards someone,” Pepe explained, tugging Fabio closer against him with his arm around his friend’s shoulder.

“I’m not suppressing them, I am just pretending that I don’t have them,” Fabio said.

“That’s called suppressing, Fabio. Why won’t you give him a chance?” Pepe asked.

“Because somehow, I don’t feel like he deserves one. It’s strange—but I just get the feeling in my gut that when I let Mesut in,  _someone_ ’s going to get hurt,” Fabio mumbled.

“You don’t know that, if you don’t give it a shot,” Pepe pointed out.

Fabio stopped walking, and looked intensely at his friend. “I wasn’t talking about myself or Mesut getting hurt,” he said softly.

Pepe frowned for a while, but then realization dawned in his eyes.

“ _Cristiano_ ,” he mumbled.

Fabio nodded silently. “I know he loves me as more than a friend, Pepe. And I refused him—and I will do it again if I have to. But this is why I will not let anyone else get to me, because I know Cristiano is going to take it hard,” he said.

Pepe was quiet for a while, as they continued walking through the streets. The clouds in front of the moon had drifted away, and Fabio looked up at the sky.

“So you’re not going to date  _anyone_  anymore because of Cristiano?” Pepe asked eventually, after a few minutes of silence.

Fabio rolled his eyes. “Of course I will—eventually. When Cristiano is completely over it. He confessed his feelings like six months ago, it’s way too soon. And even then, I will not date Mesut,” Fabio stated.

“So what you are saying is, you will  _never ever ever_  give Mesut a chance?” Pepe frowned.

Fabio sighed. “You make me sound like I am a cruel person,” he said.

“Oh, that’s not me—that’s you. Come on, you can’t say that Mesut will never be more to you than a friend,” Pepe stated.

“He already is more than a friend to me, in my heart. That’s the problem. But fine—you want me to give him a chance?” Fabio asked, raising his eyebrows challenging.

Pepe nodded. “Yes, he deserves it,” he said.

“I will give him a chance, once  _I_ am convinced he deserves one,” Fabio said.

Pepe nodded, pursing his lips. “And how does he deserve it?” he asked.

“When he stops sleeping around, getting drunk every weekend, hanging out too much with Sergio—basically when he grows up, then I will give him a chance,” Fabio said.

“Why does he have to stop hanging out too much with Sergio?” Pepe asked, frowning.

“Because Sergio’s hitting on him and I don’t like it,” Fabio said, crossing his arms.

Pepe laughed and shook his head. “Oh Fabs, you’re already deeper in this than you think.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope you liked it, let me know (: x


	5. My head screams no, and that's why I do it.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The more his head says NO, the more he wants to do it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: explicit content

**Chapter 5**

“Mesut, seriously! What are you doing here man, we’re waiting for you,” Sergio said, bursting through the front door.

Mesut sat on the couch, a blanket draped over his legs, and a laptop on his lap. “I texted you! I’m not coming out tonight,” Mesut said.

“I thought you were joking,” Sergio sputtered, placing his hands on his hips. “I was looking forward to this, Mes—you know— _us._ It’s been too long,” he said.

Mesut blushed a little because he knew what Sergio meant. “It’s been two days, Sergio. We went clubbing Tuesday,” he said.

Sergio rolled his eyes, and stretched his arms above his head. Mesut saw the stripe of bare, muscles skin and the tattoo near Sergio’s hip. He licked his lips, and averted his gaze.

“You should come,” Sergio pleaded.

But Mesut shook his head. “Not tonight, Sese,” he said calmly. Sergio had left the front door open, and Mesut could hear the impatient honking of Marcelo’s car.  

Sergio rolled his eyes. “Bitch,” he mumbled. Before he slammed the door close he yelled; “Kidding, I looooove you!”

And with that, the peace and quiet returned in Mesut’s house, and Mesut _hated it_.

He returned to his laptop. “Okay, so I guess you heard all that,” he mumbled.

Pepe’s smile beamed of the screen. “Nice job, I’ll make sure to tell Fabio—you know—get some positive points. Maybe he’ll give you a blowjob for refusing Sergio,” Pepe laughed.

Mesut rolled his eyes, and tried to stop the blush on his cheeks. Pepe had no idea what Sergio and Mesut had been talking about, and he planned to keep it that way.

“Whatever man, stop laughing. I want to hear everything Fabio said to you about me,” he said, changing the subject.

Pepe frowned, and sighed. “I don’t know everything anymore Mesut, it was a month ago, and it was late,” he said.

Mesut shrugged. “I don’t care. Just tell me what you remember,” he said.

Pepe had been so stupid to slip up yesterday during training that Fabio had talked about him during last month’s international break. And Mesut couldn’t let it go—so he demanded to know everything Fabio had said about him.

Things had turned to normal again, sort of. He’d been to Fabio’s last week, to play a game of billiards. It was weird at first, but Fabio acted just the same as always, and that calmed Mesut down. Maybe they could just forget about the whole I-want-you-but-i-don’t-want-your-life incident.

But then, Pepe slipped that up, and now Mesut wanted to know.

Pepe on the screen was scratching the bridge of his nose. “Well, it was something along the lines of that he wants you to stop fucking around, clubbing and stuff like that,” Pepe said.

Mesut scoffed. “So he wants me to be boring. Wow, that’s nice,” he said sarcastically.

Pepe shrugged. “Don’t kill the messenger, love. Anyways, I’m gone. See you at practise tomorrow, Mes,” he said, and Pepe’s face disappeared.

Mesut leaned back in the fluffy cushions of his couch, and looked at the ceiling. He was bored.

Seriously. His first night staying in, and he was already bored as fuck. This was never going to work. _Give up Fabio, or give up your life_ —that was the ultimatum in his head.

As he got up from the couch he decided—tonight, he would give up Fabio.

\---

He got to the club around midnight, threw his keys to the valet and they immediately let him in at the VIP entrance. Even if he wouldn’t be a famous footballer, they would still know him—since he stopped by the club at least twice a week.

The low booms of the music were already audible, and Mesut smiled at the familiarity of it all. The VIP section was a little less numbing than the rest of the club. It was Mesut’s favourite club, and he already felt some tingles of excitement bubbling underneath his skin.

He was glad he went, and he couldn’t wait to see Sergio.

There were a lot of people, and the club was full, just the way he liked it. Mesut loved the smell of sweat, sex and booze even more than the smell of football. Bright white, and ice-blue lights flicked through the club, bottles of champagne and vodka were popped open.

Mesut licked his lips, and wondered if it was possible to fall in love with a scene. Because if it was—he was most definitely in love with this one.

He made his way through the room, and saw his friends in the corner. There was a large white couch, in the shape of a half-moon, and Sergio got up excitedly when he saw Mesut.

“I told you he would come!” he yelled to no one in particular.

Xabi was also there, hugging a champagne cooler. And to Mesut’s surprise, Cristiano sat next to him, talking to Alvaro. Mesut frowned—what the hell was Cristiano doing here? This was their temple of sins, booze and women—nothing Cristiano was into.

When he hugged Sergio, he could already smell three different sorts of cologne on the defender.

“Being a slut tonight again, I see?” he yelled in his ear.

Sergio grinned his white teeth bare. “Only cause you weren’t here, babe,” he shot back smoothly. He leaned in, and pecked Mesut’s lips quickly. Nothing Mesut was startled by—Sergio was a touchy person when sober, and when he was drunk, it all went a little further.

But as Sergio went to get him a drink, Mesut swore he saw Cristiano frowning disapprovingly at him. He shrugged it off, and downed the glass of vodka in one go.

“Fuck, I am glad you’re here. You can save my night—dance with me!” Sergio shouted in his ear, as he grabbed Mesut’s hand.

Mesut laughed and nodded, throwing the empty shot glass in a direction he didn’t even care about.

Sergio was already swaying his hips as they walked towards the dance floor. Mesut remembered how insecure he used to feel about dancing, but then he started dancing with Sergio. They danced so much together, that he lost count—but that could also be caused by the way Sergio grinded against him whenever there was a slow song playing.

Right now, the song was just like Mesut loved a song to be. The beat was low, and it trembled throughout your whole body. It made everyone on the dance floor dance closer together, grinding and searching for contact.

Mesut placed his hands in Sergio’s neck, pressing their foreheads together.

He felt a drop of sweat trickling down onto his finger, and he licked it off sensually. Sergio groaned, and pushed their hips against each other, eliciting a surprised gasp from Mesut’s lips.

The beat bounced through his body, his eyelids became heavy as he threw back another shot of vodka.

Sergio’s hands roamed across his body, to his lower back, to his hips, ending up on his ass.

“You look so sexy tonight,” Sergio moaned in his ear as he pushed their groins together, and Mesut breathed out heavily.

They kept their eyes only locked on each other, never losing contact.

There was something about Sergio that made Mesut let go of everything. Sergio was dangerous, and reckless—and Mesut loved that about him.

Sergio didn’t fuss about little things. Sergio was just _there_. Sergio shrugged everything off, and didn’t worry.

He was the one that gravitated Mesut towards the wildest parts in him, and Mesut reveled in it.

They moved as one on the low beats of the music, oblivious to everyone and everything around them. All Mesut felt was Sergio’s firm hands, grasping his hips tightly, and possessive, and all Mesut thought was how perfect it all was.

He didn’t feel anything for Sergio, and Sergio didn’t feel anything for him. And that made Mesut let go, he didn’t care how he acted, he didn’t care about the things he said.

Because they just slipped back into normal when they were sober. They had an understanding no one would ever get, but they understood it, and they lived by it.

Which is why he didn’t stop Sergio when he closed the distance between them completely. It wasn’t his usual peck on the lips—it was hot, and sensual and _wrong_.

The fact that is was wrong made Mesut moan unconsciously, and he cupped Sergio’s cheeks to deepen the kiss.

The more his mind screamed _no_ , the more Mesut let go, and Sergio responded perfectly to him.

Mesut tugged at the defender’s long hair, demanding more, and Sergio obliged by darting his hands underneath Mesut’s shirt. Sergio’s hands felt like they were on fire as they slid across Mesut’s back, which was getting sticky with sweat.

“Fuck, I love it when you’re sweaty and smell like me,” Sergio groaned against Mesut’s lips, and Mesut had to smile before he closed the distance again.

This time he took control of the kiss, as he let his tongue explore Sergio’s hot mouth. He bit at his lower lip, sucking it a little, eliciting a groan from Sergio.

Sergio trailed his fingers away from Mesut’s back, towards his hips. He tucked them underneath the waistband of Mesut’s jeans, but Mesut slapped his hands away.

“Bitch,” Sergio spat, before grabbing Mesut’s hips tight, causing bruises.

“Slut,” Mesut shot back, closing the distance hungrily.

He loved the way Sergio manhandled him, even when he was the one in control.

He wrapped his arms tighter around Sergio’s muscled upper body, and lost himself again.

 

Some time later, they managed to tear themselves apart, but Sergio didn’t let go of Mesut’s wrist.

When Sergio had asked him to come with him to his house, Mesut’s mind had screamed no again. But that was just the thing that made Mesut go over the edge, kissing Sergio passionately as his agreeing reply.

They threw back another handful of shots, and made their way out.

 

The rest of the night was a blur of clothing being discarded, Sergio’s fingers deep into him, scissoring him open and the rustle of triumph he felt as Sergio filled him up until the hilt.

 

When he woke up the following morning, he didn’t remember anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't even know where this story is going anymore.
> 
> liked it? x


	6. If I can't make him happy--you should do it.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mesut wakes up at Sergio's--Cristiano disturbes their lovely breakfast.

**Chapter 6**

“Morning,” Mesut yawned, as he walked down the stairs.

Sergio was in the kitchen, cooking something which smelled divine, and Mesut licked his lips. If it was because of the delicious smell of food, or the fact that Sergio was cooking in his boxers—he didn’t know.

“Morning, sleepy. Hungry?” Sergio asked him, not turning away from the furnace.

“Yeah, kinda,” Mesut said, walking into the kitchen. He opened a cabinet, and took a few aspirins out.

Sergio chuckled. “If someone asks you where the salt is, you wouldn’t know—but if someone asks for condoms or aspirin, you could practically give tour,” he smiled.

Mesut shrugged and grinned back. “I try, Sese. I try,” he countered, kissing Sergio’s cheek lightly.

He filled a glass of water, and swallowed the aspirins. After that, he went to set the table, taking out the plates and the knives—meanwhile pointing out to Sergio that he also knew the place of those things.

Sergio had made omelettes, and Mesut had given him a long French kiss as a thank you.

While they were eating, they were casually talking about the training they would have that afternoon, and other things related to football.

“So, what are we, really?” Sergio suddenly asked, scraping his plate clean with his fork.

Mesut raised his eyebrows.

“Come on, you know what I mean,” Sergio rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, but I didn’t know you would like to label our—agreement,” Mesut said, twirling his finger in the air.

Sergio scoffed. “I don’t want to label anything, babe. I just want to know what I have to say when I get Fabio all over me,” Sergio explained.

Mesut deep frown made him roll his eyes. “Not all over me like _that_. You know what I mean,” he sighed.

Mesut nodded, swallowing a sip of water. “I understand. But, you do know that I like you right?” he asked. “I mean, it’s not like you’re just a one-night-stand.” Sergio nodded.

“But I am not your boyfriend, right?” Sergio pointed out.

Mesut shook his head. “No, you’re not. But I do have tingles when I see you, and to be honest, you’re the one I am most comfortable around,” he admitted.

Sergio smiled, and took Mesut’s hand gently. “I know. But we know each other good enough that a relationship between us—that would be nucular,” he said.

“It’s _nuclear_ ,” Mesut smiled.

“Voilà, exhibit A why you would drive me crazy if you were my boyfriend,” Sergio smiled, raising his eyebrows.

Mesut  nodded, and twirled his thumb around Sergio’s, who was still holding his hand softly. “If we weren’t such fuck-ups, we would make a great couple, right?” Mesut asked.

Sergio nodded. “We would. We would make everyone jealous, and judging by the way Cristiano looked last night, we already succeeded in that,” Sergio grinned.

Mesut pursed his lips. “I don’t care what he has got to say about us. He’s just sexually constipated and can’t handle other people getting some,” he stated.

Sergio laughed. “Ooh, _burn_! Man, did I feel a hint of jealousy tucked in that remark?” he asked, looking at Mesut.

“No. Why would I be jealous of him? He’s the one who can’t do this,” he smiled, getting up from his chair.

“Can’t do what?” Sergio smirked, sensing what was coming next.

Mesut moved to sit on Sergio’s lap, his legs on either side of Sergio’s thighs. “You are insatiable,” Sergio murmured against Mesut’s lips.

“Says you—who wears not-so-covering boxers in the morning,” Mesut shot back, closing the distance hungrily.

Sergio’s lips were warm and swollen, picking up Mesut’s pace immediately.

Mesut felt tingles all the way down his spine, as he trailed his fingers across Sergio’s muscled stomach. Sergio’s breathing picked up, and Mesut loved the fact that it was him who turned Sergio on.

He tangled his fingers in Sergio’s long hair, as the strong defender tightened his grip around Mesut’s slim waist.

Sergio bucked up his hips slightly, rubbing their groins together.

The sharp sound of the doorbell woke them up out of their daze. Mesut groaned irritated, getting off Sergio’s lap.

“Fucking idiot, who rings the doorbell at ten in the morning,” Sergio mumbled, standing up.

“Wait, maybe I should get that, since I have clothes on?” Mesut offered, looking lickerish at Sergio’s nearly-naked body. Sergio smirked and nodded.

Mesut walked through the living room, to the hall, and opened the door.

_It was Cristiano._

“Like I thought,” his teammate grumbled, pushing past Mesut, walking into the house.

“Good morning to you too, Cris,” Mesut spat back, rolling his eyes.

Sergio’s eyes widened just slightly at the presence of the Portuguese, but then he just smiled. “You know Cris, you are interrupting a very nice meal. You better have a good reason to barge into my house,” he said arrogant, carrying the plates to the kitchen counter.

“Oh, I have. How about you stop sleeping with Mesut?” Cristiano spat angrily. Mesut scoffed, shaking his head.

“Cristiano, _leave_. Before you make a fool out of yourself,” Sergio said calmly, turning on the faucet.

Cristiano realized Sergio wasn’t one to start listening to him, so he turned towards Mesut. “Don’t you care about Fabio’s feelings, Mes?” he asked, brows furrowed.

Mesut shot his gaze to the ceiling and shook his head in disbelief. “Fucking hell, of course I do Cris. Sleeping with Sergio has nothing to do with Fabio,” Mesut explained slowly, as if Cristiano was some sort of idiot.

He could swear Cristiano was practically fuming. “You guys should’ve seen yourselves last night! Dancing like horny teenagers. Aren’t you ashamed?” Cristiano asked in disbelief.

Mesut shrugged. “I didn’t mind. Did you?” he asked, smirking at Sergio. Sergio licked his lips and winked as a response.

Cristiano groaned, and made fists of his hands. “Stop doing that, Mesut!” he exclaimed.

“What the hell is your problem, Cristiano?” Mesut yelled back. “If I want to dance with Sergio, I dance with Sergio. If I want Sergio to fuck my brains out, I let him do that. It doesn’t have anything to do with _you_ , So. Stay. Out. Of. It,” he said, crossing his arms.

Sergio dropped the plates in the sink, and walked over to Mesut, laying his hands on Mesut’s shoulders to calm him down. “Listen, Cris. Just tell us why you’re here,” he said calmly.

Cristiano sighed. “I don’t want _him_ ,” he made a throwaway motion at Mesut, “To break Fabio’s heart.”

Mesut snorted and shook his head in irritation. “For the record, Cristiano. It was _him_ who didn’t want to kiss _me._ I am over him, and I am sure he is over me—so why are you still fuming about this?” Mesut frowned.

Cristiano raised his eyebrows. “You’re not in love with Fabio anymore?” he asked, and Mesut saw a small flicker of hope in Cristiano’s eyes.

Sergio moved to stand behind Mesut, wrapping his arms around his waist. “No, I am not in love with Fabio,” Mesut said resolutely, covering Sergio’s hands on his stomach with his own.

He noticed the way Cristiano breathed out relieved.

“So you don’t have to worry that I will break Fabio’s heart—I will leave that up to you,” Mesut said.

Cristiano’s head shot up, eyes meeting Mesut’s. “What?” he whispered.

Mesut shrugged. “I know you love him, Cris. So, do what you want to do—and leave me alone to do what I want to do,” he stated.

Cristiano seemed baffled for a minute, but then nodded slowly. “Sorry for barging in,” he mumbled.

Sergio shrugged. “Whatever, if you leave now so me and Mesut can continue what we were doing—I’ll forgive you,” he smirked.

Cristiano nodded. “Yes, sure. Of course. See you at training this afternoon,” he said as a goodbye.

He walked past Mesut and Sergio, stalking out of the house.

As the front door was closed again, Sergio turned Mesut around by his hips. “Why did you say you weren’t in love with Fabio?” he frowned.

Mesut sighed. “Let it go, Sese,” he mumbled, leaning in.

But Sergio avoided him, and looked at him intently. “I know you love him, Mesut. So this doesn’t make any sense,” he muttered.

Mesut smiled sadly. “It makes all the sense in the world, Sese.”

Sergio raised his eyebrows, encouraging him to continue.

“Like I said, I am a fuck-up. Cristiano is older, responsible and loving—everything that I am not. He is everything Fabio wants. Fabio could be happy with him, and that’s what _I_ want. At first, I wanted him, but I can’t change for him—and it’s selfish of me to want him as my own. Now I just want him to be happy, and I know Cristiano will go to the ends of the earth to make sure of that,” Mesut whispered, a hint of sadness tucked away in his eyes.

Sergio cupped his cheeks, and smiled softly at him. “Mes, that’s really sweet of you,” he said. Mesut shrugged, and blinked a tear away.

“Whatever, just kiss me,” he said, and he closed the distance between them.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please review? (: x


	7. Because I know that you love me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cristiano knocks, Fabio lets him in.

**  
**_Look at[this](http://24.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_m7it565WV31rbfvago1_500.gif) before you start reading. It's interpreted for this story alone--so no connection to the real chronology of real life events._

_Enjoy!_

_\---------_

**Chapter 7**

He’s a gift from heaven. Every time Fabio sees Cristiano playing, he becomes more and more aware of it.

He’s finally in the starting eleven again, and he is buzzing to play. And yes, he was more psyched to play with Cristiano than the actual game—since it’s Osasuna, and it shouldn’t be that hard to win.

The Bernabeu was roaring, since two goals had already hit the back of the net, by the one and only Cristiano Ronaldo of course.

Fabio had assisted the last one, and the way Cristiano ran up to him, and buried his face in his shoulder made Fabio’s heart flutter. Amongst his other teammates who came to hug them was Mesut, and Fabio couldn’t help it—but his heart started shuddering in his chest as Mesut hugged him.

“Great assist, Fab,” Mesut smiled at him, before untangling from his arms. It was more distant than Fabio wanted it to be, but then Cristiano engulfed him in a hug once more, and he forgot about it.

They ended up winning four to zero, and the atmosphere inside the dressing room was light and happy. Mourinho was pleased with them, and even if he hadn’t been, they would still be glad they had won.

“You were great tonight,” Cristiano smiled at him, ruffling through his damp, showered hair.

Fabio grinned as he untangled the towel around his hips, slipping into his boxers. “Well, I must, eh? Maybe I’ll make the starting eleven again next week,” he smiled.

Cristiano nodded. “I’m sure of it,” he stated.

Fabio looked through the dressing room, and noticed Marcelo and Pepe dancing. Mesut was bending over the bench, Sergio sat beside him and slapped his ass.

Fabio frowned and averted his gaze back to Cristiano.

“Do you want to come over tonight?” he heard the taller Portuguese asking.

“Yes, sure,” he smiled.

Cristiano flashed his white, bare teeth and nodded. “Is it possible? How is Vitória doing?” he asked.

“It’s good—she’s at my mom’s tonight, and she is doing great, “ Fabio smiled and took out his phone. He showed a picture of him and Vitória in the pool, and Cristiano cooed.

“She’s so adorable. I should have an unsafe one-night-stand again, and hope it’s a girl,” he grinned.

Fabio rolled his eyes. “That means you have to bribe the girl again with ten million euros, and I don’t know if that’s the right way to go,” he smirked.

Cristiano shrugged. “Yeah, maybe. What do want to do tonight anyway, watch a movie or play some darts?” he asked.

Marcelo suddenly popped up next to them. “You guys wanna do something tonight?” he beamed.

Fabio opened his mouth to object, but Marcelo went on. “Because me, Pepe, the Alvaro’s, Mesut and Sergio are going to hit the club again. You guys coming too?” he asked, smile bright and hopeful.

“ ** _No_** ,” Fabio and Cristiano blurted at the same time, before turning to look at each other and blush.

“Oh, right, I forgot. You two are the _boring_ ones. Why did I even ask?” Marcelo huffed, before jumping back towards Pepe.

Fabio followed Marcelo’s movements, and saw Sergio asking Marcelo if him and Cris were also coming. He saw Marcelo shaking his head, and Mesut immediately whispered something in Sergio’s ear.

Fabio tore his gaze away again, ignoring the jealous burning in his gut, and smiled at Cristiano. “You ready to go?” he asked.

Cristiano nodded, and they yelled their goodbyes to their friends.

\-- 

In the car, Cristiano turned on some piano music they both loved, and Fabio leaned backwards, inhaling the scent of Cristiano’s new Audi.

“After a victory, we are always the first ones to leave. Have you noticed that?” he asked, looking sideways at Cristiano.

His friend smiled. “Yes—that’s one of the reasons why Pepe and Marcelo call us boring,” he said.

“Yeah, but we’ve got kids who wake up in the middle of the night. They should understand that, right?” Fabio countered.

Cristiano shrugged. “Marcelo has a kid, and he still goes out. Why do you look so irritated?” Cristiano asked worried, looking at Fabio for a second.

Fabio shrugged. “I don’t know. I just feel like they do not understand that even though we are all young--some of us have more responsibilities than others. Some of us can’t go out clubbing every night,” Fabio mumbled.

Cristiano chuckled softly, and patted Fabio’s knee. “You sound jealous, babes,” he stated.

“I’m not jealous—I just think it’s not required that you should be clubbing every night, just because you’re in your twenties,” he said.

Cristiano shrugged again. “So? Who says it’s required of you to do so?” he asked.

“No one. But I get the impression from our teammates,” Fabio sighed.

Cristiano frowned. “Fuck that. If they want to get pissed every night—let them. If you want to go home to Tori, you do that,” he said.

Fabio smiled, and nodded slowly. “That’s so you, Cris,” he whispered, looking out the window.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Cristiano laughed.

Fabio laughed as well, and leaned in to peck Cristiano’s cheek. “Nothing. It’s just funny how you always talk sense into me. Whenever I worry, you just cut to the chase,” he smiled.

Cristiano nodded, as he fixed his gaze back on the road. “Well, someone’s got to do it right?” he teased.

“Yeah,” Fabio simply said, closing his eyes.

\-- 

But as they sat on the carpet in front of Cristiano’s fireplace, the frown on Fabio’s face returned.

Cristiano noticed it immediately, and moved to sit on his knees, and stroked his thumb over the frown, smoothing it out.

Fabio smiled a little, and shot his gaze down to his hands. “Sorry, I’m not good company tonight,” he whispered.

Cristiano raised his eyebrows and shook his head. “You are great company, Fab. The only time I sit in front of a fireplace, is with you—and I love it,” he smiled.

Fabio crooked a full smile now. “I like your company as well, Cris,” he said softly, reaching out his hand.

Cristiano’s breathing hitched a little as Fabio entwined their fingers. Cristiano closed his hand tighter, and looked up at Fabio.

Fabio couldn’t help it, but Cristiano’s eyes were like magnets, and he felt himself scooting closer to him. He also took Cristiano’s other hand in his own, and tugged him closer.

Cristiano placed a soft kiss on Fabio’s cheek, which made Fabio look up again.

“I probably shouldn’t…” he breathed.

“Why not?” Cristiano whispered.

“Because I don’t love you like you love me,” Fabio muttered back.

Cristiano swallowed hard. “I don’t care. Just kiss me. Just this night,” he mumbled, sliding his thumb along Fabio’s cheek.

“I don’t do complicated,” Fabio said, but he fixed his eyes on Cristiano’s red lips, which looked wet and soft.

“Me neither,” Cristiano replied, a husky tone in his voice.

Fabio thought about Sergio and Mesut who were probably dancing right now.

He thought about the training last week, how he had noticed how Mesut had waddled a little, slapping a smirking Sergio.

He thought about the way Mesut had held Vitória, tight against his chest—and how his daughter had fallen asleep almost right away.

It wasn’t fair.

It just wasn’t fair how it was precisely _Mesut_ —of all people—who he had fallen in love with.

As he clenched his fingers in Cristiano’s shirt, tugging him closer again, he felt twigs of jealousy snapping under his skin, as he thought about Mesut and Sergio.

He should have loved someone who was normal, like Cristiano, with his beautiful dark eyes.

Against his better judgment, Fabio leaned in, pushing his lips onto Cristiano’s.

The small, needy whimper which left Cristiano’s mouth vibrated through Fabio’s body, and he moved to sit in Cristiano’s lap.

He loved the way Cristiano adjusted to _him_ , to his pace.

He slid his hands underneath Fabio’s sweater at the same time Fabio craved it—and he flicked his tongue around Fabio’s at the same time Fabio had the urge to do it.

They were puzzle pieces, who simply clicked.

 

And Fabio thought that the _only_ thing that was off about this, was that he didn’t love Cristiano. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please review? (: x


	8. Catching feelings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sergio and Cristiano are both in the same shit.

Chapter 8

“Whatever, even though if they won’t be able to play Messi, it is still going to be a tough game. Fabregas is in pretty good shape this season,” Sergio mumbled, groaning a little as he was doing sit-ups.

The grass was a little damp, and since the autumn was coming, everyone was getting a little chilly. Another two months had passed and it was September now—Sergio felt like days flew past like minutes and weeks like hours. He hadn't been hanging out with Mesut a lot anymore, and he kind of felt a void. Not the normal I-want-to-have-sex-again sort of void, but a deeper, more hurting void.

“Yeah, but Pique hasn’t been that good the past few games, so I will probably find my way through,” Cristiano grinned back at him.

Sergio smiled, and decided not to comment on Cristiano’s cockiness—since really—who was he to judge? “But still, I just have this feeling in my gut that it is going to be a really crazy game,” Sergio sighed, tugging a loose strand of hair in his hairband, before resuming his sit-ups.

Cristiano frowned worriedly at him. “Is the great Sergio Ramos—Red Card King—nervous?” he smiled.

“Try being a captain during a Clasico, and then you will have the right to comment,” Sergio countered, and Cristiano had to laugh.

“Try being me during a Clasico,” he pointed out.

“Touché,” Sergio smiled.

“Ah well, I won’t be carded for kicking against Messi’s shins, or nearly punching Xavi in the face,” Cristiano said.

Sergio frowned. “We were losing, and I hate Messi—that’s why I did it. And Xavi, he already forgave me by the time we had international duties again so whatever,” he shrugged.

"Oh, defence mode activated,” Cristiano smiled, holding his hands up.

“Tssk. Just do your sit-ups,” Sergio smiled, shaking his head lightly. He let his gaze shift over the field where the rest of his teammates were also doing their training.

Mourinho was walking around, with his natural scowl even more prominent—like it always was with a big game coming up. Sergio’s eyes were automatically locked with Mesut’s, and the young German stuck out his tongue playfully for a second, before resuming stretching with Fabio.

Cristiano followed the direction of Sergio’s gaze, and turned back—eyes wide.

 _“You love him_ ,” he blurted.

Sergio choked on his sip of water he’d just took, and laughed. “No,” he said, shaking his head.

Cristiano nodded. “I can see it in your eyes,” he said stubbornly.

Sergio scoffed. “If you’re asking me if I like him—then the answer is yes. Seriously Cris, in your mind it jumps from friends—immediately to marriage or something,” he said, smiling.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Cristiano asked.

Sergio shrugged. “For example: you think I’m in love with Mesut when I look at him. Why don’t you think that I like him, or that I fancy him or—I don’t know—maybe have a crush on him. Why is it always immediately love according to you?” he asked.

Cristiano nodded reluctantly. “Basically because I am such a horrible romantic,” he sighed dramatically.

Sergio rolled his eyes. “The one time I think I can use your seriousness, you decide to act weird for the one time in your life,” he smiled.

Cristiano cocked his head sideways. “Why would you need my seriousness now?” he asked.

Sergio bit his lip, and looked down at the grass, ruffling his fingers through it.

“Ah. I am right, you do love Mes,” Cristiano eventually said, eyes beaming.

“Okay, tame your enthusiasm. Just because I feel— _things_ —for Mesut, doesn’t mean he feels the same way about me. Maybe he still likes Fabio. I don’t know,” Sergio mumbled.

“I wasn’t thinking about Fabio, Sese. I just think it’s peculiar that you finally admit it,” Cristiano smiled.

Sergio shrugged. “Well—he does have a nice body,” he mumbled.

“Oh, no. Don’t close off and become Sergio the Dickhead again. Talk to me,” Cristiano encouraged.

Sergio frowned. “ _Sergio the Dickhead_? Gee, thanks, Cris,” he scoffed, shaking his head.

“But—whatever man. Mesut and Fabio are hitting it off again this past month. He hasn’t been over at my place for the exact amount of time. Maybe I was just easy for him—the quick fuck,” Sergio shrugged.

Cristiano nodded. “I know how you feel. It’s the same with Fabio,” he sighed.

Sergio looked up, encouraging him to continue.

“I love him. I do—and between us the same things happen between you and Mesut. I also feel like the easy one, who is there whenever Fabio feels like needing someone,” Cristiano said, looking at Fabio for a while, before turning his head back towards Sergio.

Sergio groaned and let his head fall in his hands. “This wasn’t supposed to happen,” he mumbled.

Cristiano scooted closer, and slumped his arm around Sergio soothingly. “Come on, you can tell me,” he said softly.

He looked around the field, but none of their teammates were paying close attention. Mourinho was reprimanding Fabio and Mesut for playing tag instead of doing push-ups.

Sergio sighed deeply next to him, and Cristiano turned his gaze back to his friend.

“It’s just— I see Mesut everywhere, at the mall, in my house—seriously Cristiano, in my own house I think Mesut is there. I smell his cologne, you know, the Hugo Boss one? I smell it all the time. Whenever we’re at the club, and we’re dancing—I want to kiss him. But not in my usual way, but you know, weird—tender and sweet and all that romantic stuff. I feel like I am losing it, Cris! I’m losing it big time,” Sergio whined, slapping his hands on the ground.

Cristiano slumped his hand in front of his mouth to smother his laughter.

Of course—when he had barged into Sergio’s and Mesut’s breakfast a few months ago, he had already seen the domesticity between them. Back then, he thought it was just the way Mesut and Sergio were around each other. But now—he thought it might’ve meant a lot more.

“Okay, Sese. You are in love,” he stated.

Sergio sighed, but Cristiano swore he saw his friend’s head nod a little.

“It’s doomed. Of course it’s doomed,” Sergio muttered.

Cristiano frowned. “Why should it be doomed? You guys really hit it off—I mean, even Alvaro was jealous of your chemistry and connection,” Cristiano said.

Sergio chuckled. “But Cris—we are now both in the same shit. You love Fabio, and I—something—Mesut. And guess what, Fabio and Mesut love each other. We’re like Shakesteak,” Sergio sighed.

“I think you mean Shakespeare,” Cristiano mumbled absentmindedly, thinking about Sergio’s words.

He hated to admit it, but his friend was right—they had picked out the worst people to fall in love with.

“Watch out!” they suddenly heard behind them.

Mesut came running through them, nearly knocking both of them over—and Fabio was right behind him, carrying a bucket of water.

“Noooo, have mercy!” Mesut shrieked, nearly tripping over because he couldn’t laugh and run at the same time.

Fabio increased his pace, turning the bucket around over Mesut’s head.

Mesut was completely soaked, and stopped running abruptly. Fabio collided with him, and together they tumbled over the grass—Mesut clutching onto Fabio to make sure Fabio was just as wet as he was.

Cristiano heard Sergio sighed deeply.

“We are fucked, Cris,” Sergio stated softly.

Cristiano couldn’t help but agree.


	9. In love with the thought of you.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fabio and Mesut finally see the light.

**Chapter 9**

“Mesut, you’re not really helping,” Fabio sighed, clicking two blocks of Lego on top of each other.

“I’m grabbing power-food, we need it,” Mesut yelled from the kitchen.

Fabio snorted, and looked at the heap of Lego in front of him. The snow was trickling down steadily, so Mesut had turned on the fire place and the warm flames made Fabio a little droopy and sleepy.

Mesut came walking back into the living room, carrying two bottles of beer in one hand, and a bag of chips in the other.

“El Mister is going to kill us,” Fabio grinned, as Mesut sat down onto the floor. He crossed his legs and handed Fabio his bottle.

“El Mister can go fuck himself,” Mesut stated, and Fabio choked on his beer.

“Mesut!” he exclaimed.

“Oh, right. I forgot—you picture everything a little too vividly,” Mesut smirked.

Fabio rolled his eyes. “You’re such a kid,” he shook his head, but he had to smile anyway.

Mesut nodded, and took a big gulp of beer.  “Okay, so—what are we making?” he asked, clapping his hands together.

Fabio shrugged, and moved his hands throught he pile of Lego in front of him. “I can’t believe we are playing with Lego,” he smirked.

Mesut shrugged. “It was my favourite thing to do when I was younger—I still like it, although not in a way that I do it every week,” he smiled.

Fabio nodded. “Can you picture Marca’s headlines, if they knew that we were playing with Lego now?” he chuckled, and Mesut had to laugh.

He moved to sit cross-legged, and delved out a few Lego bricks. “Why are these pink?” he mumbled. He and Fabio both had thrown their all their Lego together on one pile.

“Oh, yeah. Those are Tori’s,” Fabio blushed.

Mesut laughed, and threw his head back in his neck. “Oh my God, you stole your daughter’s Lego. That’s cruel!” he exclaimed, his body shaking of laughter.

Fabio blushed and nodded. “I hoped she would play with it—since it was pink—but hell no,” he smiled.

“I feel very sad for you,” Mesut stated solemnly.

“Yeah, the compassion is just dripping from your face,” Fabio nodded.

Mesut stuck out his tongue—something that worked extremely well even though he was already twenty-five. _But what kind of twenty-five-year-old,_ Fabio thought to himself.

“Why are you so complacently smirking?” Mesut asked suspiciously.

Fabio shrugged, and grabbed a folder from one of the Lego boxes. "You will never know,” he grinned, studying the different sorts of things he could build.

Mesut grinned, and reached for the remote, which was laying on the armrest of the couch. He turned on the music, and Fabio immediately slapped his hands against his ears.

“In what universe is this music?” he exclaimed, frowning at Mesut.

Mesut laughed at that, and turned the music down. “It’s not mine—Sergio left one of his flamenco CDs here. I kind of like it, but you clearly don’t?” Mesut smirked.

“It’s horrible. Don’t you have something better?” Fabio asked.

Mesut nodded, and moved on his knees towards the stereo. He popped the CD out and put another one in.

“Let’s see if you like this,” he smiled, pressing the play-button. Deep beats filled the living room, and Fabio cocked his head sideways.

“Well—it’s not so ba—” he cut himself off as the voice of the lead singer filled the room.

“What is this?!” he exclaimed.

“German rap,” Mesut beamed.

“It’s like Hitler decided to record an album,” Fabio shrieked, slapping his hands against his ears again.

Mesut turned off the music and pouted. “Barbarian,” he snickered.

Fabio laughed and removed his hands. “You have weird taste, Mesut,” he smiled.

“Sami likes it,” Mesut sputtered.

“Yes, but Sami also German,” Fabio pointed out.

“So? Sami is a weird German,” Mesut countered and Fabio raised his hands in surrender.

“Please—do tell me why Sami is a weird German?” he smiled.

Mesut shrugged. “Talk to him for longer than an hour and you’ll know,” he grinned.

Fabio scoffed. “Excuses, excuses. You just don’t want to admit that your taste in music comes straight from hell,” he pointed out.

Mesut pouted, and held up the CD case. “This album is called Straight from Hell,” he mumbled.

Fabio laughed and shook his head in disbelief. “Ah, at least your band knows what kind of music they make,” he snickered, laughing at Mesut’s increasing pout.

“You and your piano twinkles—that’s not music, those are endless lullabies,” Mesut said.

Fabio shook his head, smiling at his hands. “Oh, Mesut. You’ve got so much to learn on the field of music,” he said.

Mesut opened his mouth to reply—but then his phone rang. He looked at the screen and Fabio saw Mesut’s eyes widen just slightly.

“Is it okay if I grab this?” Mesut asked.

Fabio nodded. “Sure, I’ll just continue looking for what type of thing I can make with my daughter’s pink Lego’s,” he smiled.

Mesut grinned, and unlocked the call. “Hey, Sese, what’s up?” Mesut asked.

Fabio heard Sergio’s voice from far-off, but couldn’t make out any words. 

“No, sorry. I can’t go clubbing tonight, me and Fabio are hanging out,” Mesut answered.

Even though Fabio couldn’t make out any words—he swore he heard a disappointed “Oh..”.

The call ended a minute after that, and Fabio saw Mesut biting his lower lip. “Are you okay, Mes?” he asked.

Mesut nodded. “Yeah, it’s just Sergio. He’s acting weird lately,” he said.

Fabio raised his eyebrows. “You can tell me,” he encouraged.

Mesut sighed. “You know me and Sergio used to—you know—sleep together?” he asked hesitantly.

Fabio simply nodded, face blank.

“Well, that’s suddenly over now. But Sergio is acting strange. Maybe he thinks I’m a slut,” Mesut mumbled.

Fabio thought for a while—replaying everything that has happened the past few months in his head. He and Mesut had grown closer together again, the awkwardness had ebbed away.

“Maybe he likes you?” Fabio suggested.

Mesut smirked. "It's Sergio we’re talking about,” he pointed out.

Fabio shrugged. “Yeah, fair point,” he stated.

Mesut went silent again, absentmindedly clicking the Lego bricks on top of each other.

Fabio kept thinking. “Why did you stop sleeping together?” he eventually asked.

Mesut blushed. “Because—I don’t know. I think it’s because of you,” he mumbled.

Fabio’s eyes got big. “Me?” he blurted.

Mesut nodded. “Pepe told me how you wanted me to stop sleeping around—so maybe we could give it a shot. But, fuck Fabio. I don’t know what I want anymore,” Mesut sighed.

Fabio smiled softly. “Talk to me, Mes. You know you can say anything to me, right?” he asked.

Mesut nodded. “I stopped sleeping with Sergio for you. But now I don’t know if I made the right choice,” he blushed.

When Fabio stayed silent, Mesut exhaled loudly. “Shit, you must think I am some sort of slut,” he sighed.

“No—no, I don’t,” Fabio quickly said. “I’m just thinking… If you don’t know if you made the right choice by stopping with seeing Sergio, then there must be something that’s holding you back,” he mumbled.

Mesut shrugged. “Yeah, I guess,” he said.

Fabio scooted over towards him, until their knees touched each other. “If I try something—will you promise not to freak out?” he asked softly.

Mesut swallowed hard, and nodded.

Fabio nodded, and gently cupped Mesut’s cheeks.

Mesut’s eyes darted towards Fabio’s lips for a second, before locking with Fabio’s eyes again. Fabio swallowed, and then leaned in.

He gently kissed Mesut’s soft lips. Mesut responded eventually, kissing him softly.

 

As they both pulled back, Fabio looked into Mesut’s eyes. “Now tell me, _honestly_ , how you felt about that,” he said softly.

Mesut swallowed. “No offense—but it was like kissing a dead fish,” Mesut muttered.

And with those words—the clouds of mystery around their relationship were pulled away, the air became clear again and they both felt like they were taking a fresh breath again.

Fabio chuckled, and grabbed Mesut’s hands. “Same for me,” he whispered.

Mesut smiled. “It’s not that you’re a bad kisser—it just wasn’t what I thought it would be,” Mesut mumbled.

Fabio nodded. “Precisely. I think I know what the problem was,” he said.

Mesut raised his eyebrows in question.

“We were in love with the _thought_ of each other,” Fabio sighed.

A smile broke through on Mesut’s lips. “I think you’re right,” he whispered.

Fabio leaned back against the wall and groaned. “We are both such fuck-ups,” he said.

Mesut sighed. “We are. See, if you had just kissed me that night, somewhere six months ago, then this would’ve never happened!” he exclaimed, a laugh bubbling up.

Fabio smiled and threw his head in his hands.

“Oh my God. We just wasted six months thinking we were in love with each other,” he mumbled in disbelief.

“Yes, instead all it took to convince us otherwise was a stupid kiss!” Mesut barked out a laugh, shaking his head.

Fabio had to laugh as well, relief flooding over him. Whatever it was that had possessed his mind the past few months, it had disappeared the minute his lips had touched Mesut’s. 

“I’m so relieved I’m not in love with you,” he blurted. He blushed immediately at his rude remark, but Mesut had to laugh as well.

  “Me too—you were giving me headaches,” he accused, and Fabio faked being offended.

“Me? You were the one who gave _me_ headaches. With your stupid clubbing and fucking around,” he laughed.

Mesut let his head drop back in his neck, his body shaking of laughter.

“And you—with your boring routines of leaving the dressing room right way—even after a win,” he pointed out.

Fabio shook his head, and scooted closer to Mesut on his knees.

“What do you say?” he mumbled, placing his hands on either side of Mesut’s shoulders. “Friends?” he asked.

Mesut nodded, and pulled Fabio into a hug.

“BFFs,” he smirked.


	10. To throw off the balance.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bringing Fabio along to the club just throws everything off balance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Loads of angsting--so be prepared. (;

**Chapter 10**

“I don’t like it,” Sergio stated, making a sound awfully close to a heartbroken whine. Cristiano crossed his arms in silence, but there was also something evident on his lips which was awfully close to a pout.

“I just don’t get it,” Sergio whined again.

Cristiano sighed, and turned Sergio around by his shoulders. “They’re just having fun, I guess,” he shrugged, disguising the hurt tone in his voice.

But the younger man looked over his shoulder, back towards the dance floor where Fabio and Mesut were doing the Macarena.

For Sergio, it had been the first time he had ever seen Fabio in a club—so that was probably a reason why he acted so ridiculous. But Mesut—who was as experienced as a man can be in this environment—was happily dancing along, obviously not caring that they were looking like retards.

Cristiano had to sigh as well, and he felt a loud pang inside his chest. He wanted to stalk up to them, tear them apart before Mesut could change Fabio into his clubbing-minion. But he realized that it wasn’t his place to do so—so he balled his fists and moped around for the entire evening, with Sergio by his side.

Whereas he was sulking in silence, Sergio was walking up to random people, probably telling his tale of woe to everyone who wanted to lend him their shoulder to cry on.

Alvaro Arbeloa sat down next to Cristiano and patted his knee. “Must be hard—to see him like that,” Alvaro simply said, nodding towards Fabio and Mesut on the dance floor, who were now dancing to _I’m sexy and I know it._ Fabio was shaking his hips in a ridiculous way, and Mesut was nearly lying on the ground, laughing his ass off.

“Well, that’s _disturbing_ ,” Sergio deadpanned, looking at Fabio and Mesut. He slumped down onto the couch as well and let out a deep sigh.

Alvaro snorted, but stayed silent.

“You’ve got your philosophers-gaze again. What’s the matter?” Cristiano asked.

Alvaro nodded towards Mesut and Fabio—who now seemed to be holding a contest of who could hop around on one leg the longest, while waving their arms like a bird.

“Is that how you would act with your lover?” Alvaro asked, raising his eyebrows.

Sergio scoffed. “Hell— _to the fucking_ —no.”

Cristiano shook his head. “I wouldn’t be here with my lover in the first place,” he added.

Alvaro held the palms of his hands up, and shrugged. “Like I said—they don’t look in love,” he stated simply.

Sergio turned his gaze back towards the dance floor. “Of course they’re in love. Why else would they hang out with each other?” he asked, not convinced by Alvaro’s philosophy.

“Well, take us for example. We hang out together, but we’re not in love with each other,” Alvaro explained.

Sergio grabbed his chest dramatically. “Alvaro, how could you say that so harshly—I have feelings,” he sobbed mockingly, and Alvaro nearly shoved the younger defender of the couch.

“You know what I mean,” he laughed, rolling his eyes.

Cristiano simply hummed. “So you’re suggesting that they are _friends_?” he asked, raising his eyebrows at Alvaro.

Alvaro nodded. “Yes, I think they are,” he stated.

Cristiano locked his eyes with Sergio for a while—before they both fell into a fit of hysterical laughter which lasted nearly three minutes.

“Alvaro—you should check in with a mental institution,” Sergio hiccupped, wiping the tears from his eyes.

Alvaro stood up, mumbling something about how they were the ones who should check in first, and he stalked away towards Isco.

Cristiano panted a little, still snorting about the fact that Alvaro actually thought Mesut and Fabio could be _friends_.

“They are either lovers or they hate each other. There is no other way,” Sergio stated, throwing a shot of vodka back.

Cristiano nodded. “Alvaro is crazy,” he added.

 

At that moment, Mesut and Fabio made their way back towards the VIP section, both doubling over from laughter.

“F-Fabio knocked—a girl over,” Mesut exclaimed between his laughter.

Fabio shoved Mesut lightly, and ended up locking the midfielder’s head in the crook of his elbow. “It was an accident,” he protested.

Sergio couldn’t do anything but just sit down, and stare speechless at the scene in front of him. He felt like the air was being sucked out of his lungs, his throat became tight, like someone was strangling him with an invisible wire.

He felt a strong hand on his shoulder, and realized it was Cristiano, who looked just as sad as him.

Fabio had released Mesut from his grip, and the German was gasping for air. “Oh my, you nearly killed me,” he exaggerated, panting like his life depended on it.

“Tssk. Wimp,” Fabio snickered, ruffling through Mesut’s long hair.

Sergio balled his fists—Fabio’s endearment was so familiar to him that he knew how Mesut’s hair must feel to his touch right now.

Mesut turned in circles a few times, finally noticing Sergio. “Ah, Sese! Let’s dance,” he exclaimed jolly, extending his hand.

Sergio nearly swallowed his own tongue, and Cristiano patted his back as he coughed.

“You sure?” Sergio asked, his gaze darting between Mesut and Fabio.

He loved Mesut, and he was jealous—yes. But he was worried too; that if he would dance with Mesut tonight, Mesut would destroy his chances with Fabio. Sergio was a selfish person, but he wasn’t _that_ selfish.

But Fabio grinned back at him, nodding encouraging. The Portuguese stepped forward, jumping from one foot to another. “Come on, Cris. I want to see you dance as well,” the blonde smiled.

Judging the way Cristiano looked, Sergio figured he was having the same reaction he did when Mesut had asked him to dance.

“Okay,” Cristiano blurted, standing up slowly—trying to hide his wobbling knees.

\--- 

Mesut smirked on the inside as he saw how Sergio was biting his lip nervously, while they were walking onto the dance floor.

“Are you okay?” he asked innocently.

Sergio nodded curtly. “Fine,” his friend mumbled.

Mesut took both of Sergio’s hands, guiding them to his hips. Normally Sergio always took the lead, but his friend seemed too baffled and too confused to even move his hips.

“Are you just going to stand there, or are we going to dance?” Mesut smiled, and Sergio wobbled a smile back.

The music suddenly softened, and the feedback of a microphone rang through the club. “It’s midnight—time for the only slow dance we have in this club. Grab your loved one, and enjoy,” the DJ slurred.

Mesut saw Sergio stepping back hesitantly, and from the corner of his eye—he saw Cristiano doing the same with Fabio.

His heart melted, turning to goo on this inside.

He knew Sergio wanted him, and he knew Cristiano wanted Fabio. And here they were, willing to back out on the couples dance so he and Fabio could dance together.

“If you want uhm—to dance with—” Sergio mumbled, shooting his gaze downwards.

Mesut smiled, but Sergio couldn’t see it—so he just grabbed the defender’s hands, and pulled him closer against his chest. “Don’t talk,” Mesut whispered softly, laying his head on Sergio’s shoulder.

The slow and soft tunes of the music filled the room—and Mesut realized that in these few minutes, the club actually looked like a decent place. No writhing, no grinding—just soft music, and couples holding each other gently.

Sergio rested his cheek against Mesut’s temple, and Mesut felt his friend’s heart shuddering against his own chest.

Mesut sighed, feeling heavenly, and he closed his eyes to capture the moment as good as he possible could. He felt himself drifting away in Sergio’s strong arms, which were wrapped protectively around his waist.

Sergio rubbed his back in slow circles, and Mesut felt himself getting warm underneath his touch.

He nearly drifted off—and that’s why he was so startled when he felt a damp wetness against his temple.

He gently pulled back a little, to look at Sergio.

He saw Sergio’s cheeks glistening with tears, and he opened his mouth to say something.

But the Sevillian averted his gaze, and softly let go of Mesut. “I’m sorry, Mes—but it’s not fair. I shouldn’t dance with you, when you are a just a step-length away from the person you love,” Sergio muttered, and he staggered backwards.

Mesut reached out to stop him, but Sergio moved away further.

Sergio walked up the short stairs, towards the VIP section, and grabbed his coat from the couch.

Alvaro Arbeloa stood up to stop him, but Sergio avoided his outstretched arm, and walked away.

He disappeared into the crowd near the exit, but Mesut walked quickly towards the VIP section—only to be stopped by Alvaro.

“Let go of me,” he mumbled, trying to wriggle out of Alvaro’s grasp.

“No, let _him_ go,” Alvaro said calmly. Mesut huffed, and stood still.

“What are you thinking, Mesut?” Alvaro sighed.

Mesut shrugged. “I thought he would get the hint!” he mumbled defensively.

“What hint?” Alvaro asked.

Mesut motioned towards the dance floor. “That I wanted to dance the couples-dance with him,” he sputtered.

Alvaro laughed, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “You thought that he would get that?” he asked.

Mesut pointed at Cristiano and Fabio. “Cristiano gets it,” he muttered.

Alvaro narrowed his eyes. “I doubt that,” he stated.

\---- 

“I like this song,” Fabio hummed against Cristiano’s chest, feeling the warmth softly against his cheek.

“Uhu,” Cristiano choked out, feeling like his entire body was on fire because Fabio was so close to him.

The spiky hair of the younger Portuguese was surprisingly soft against his neck—and Cristiano thought back to the night when he and Fabio had sat in front of the fireplace together. Fabio had kissed him—after Cristiano had waved away his warnings and objections.

He knew he made a mistake, but the second Fabio’s lips touched his, he thought to himself: _How can something be a mistake when it feels this good?_

So he had given in, entirely. He had already given Fabio his heart, and that night he had also given him his body.

Nothing had felt better than to feel Fabio’s bare chest against his, and Fabio’s tightness around him had nearly made him pass out on the spot. When Fabio screamed out his name in ecstasy, Cristiano had believed he loved him for a few seconds. Because crying someone’s name out like that could only go hand-in-hand with feelings, he thought.

But he had been wrong.

He realized that when he woke up to an empty half of the bed.

And now, Fabio was pressed close against him once more. Every fiber in his body told him to give into it—again. Because now he really knew how good it felt to be one with Fabio. Now he knew what he wanted for the rest of his life. The crumbling in his chest was still hurting, as he remembered how much he had wanted to wake up to Fabio’s eyes.

He thanked his brains for butting in, before he would make the same mistake again.

He reluctantly untangled him from Fabio’s arms. “This can’t happen again,” he stated softly.

“What do you mean?” Fabio asked, eyes big in worry.

“You messing with my head—it’s just too much,” Cristiano said, feeling his jaw wobble, which was always a sign that he was about to cry.

He didn’t know from where he got the strength and the willpower, but he managed to turn around.

He stalked towards the back exit, and the guards let him go through without a fuss. _He was the great Cristiano Ronaldo after all, the Golden boy,_  he thought bitterly.

 

Fabio sighed, feeling his shoulders slump down as he walked towards Mesut, who looked equally miserable.

He grabbed Mesut’s hand, and rubbed it soothingly. They opened their mouths at the same time.

_“We fucked up.”_

Alvaro snorted in agreement.  


	11. I'm an idiot.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mesut and Fabio feel sorry for themselves after the dramatic night at the club.
> 
> They both agree to the fact that they're fucking idiots.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait! Didn't have the inspiration for a chapter--but as you can see--it's here!
> 
> Enjoy!

**Chapter 11**

After Alvaro was finished telling them how stupid they were—which lasted nearly half an hour, mind you—Fabio and Mesut decided to go home. They went to club in Fabio’s car, so Fabio would drop Mesut off at his own place.

They were silent in the car—after bickering a little about what music they were going to listen. Both of them were a little down, since they’d hoped that this night would’ve went better. Fabio was a very steady driver, and Mesut’s eyes started falling as he thought about everything that had happened.

The lights from the other cars shone brightly, and the rain trickled onto the window. He sighed deeply, his shoulders falling a little and he noticed how tense he was.

Fabio laid his hand on Mesut’s knee and gave him a comforting smile. “You okay?” he asked, his voice soft.

Mesut shrugged a little, entwining their fingers. “I can’t get Sese’s face out of my head,” he sighed. “He looked so broken, and vulnerable. I’ve never seen him like that.”

Fabio nodded slowly. “You guys hooked up a few times, didn’t you see it back then?” he asked, turning on his blinker to overtake a slower car.

Mesut shook his head, and peered outside again. “Not really, no. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him like this. But then again—I have been avoiding him for the past month, ever since we became friends again,” he mumbled.

Fabio tapped on the steering wheel with his fingers, and bit his lower lip in thought. “Maybe it’s all just a misunderstanding? Maybe he wasn’t feeling well, and that’s why he left?” he suggested.

Mesut rolled his eyes. “That doesn’t seem very likely,” he said.

Fabio shrugged. “You don’t know,” he simply said.

Mesut sighed. “So what are you saying? I should just ask him? ‘Cause that sounds like a perfect plan,” he said sarcastically.

Fabio smiled a little. “No need to get all worked up,” he said, nudging Mesut lightly.

The German cracked a small smile to humour Fabio, but he was still confused. “What am I supposed to do?” he whined, crossing his arms.

Fabio chuckled lightly, as he got off the highway. “Just go with the flow, Mes. I can drop you off five metres further, in front of Sergio’s door,” Fabio opted.

Mesut raised his eyebrows. “You want me to go talk to him?” he asked.

Fabio nodded, as he stopped the car in front of the gated community where Mesut lived.

Mesut bit his lower lip, contemplating. "Okay—I want to propose a deal,” he eventually said, clapping his hands together in determination. Fabio brought the car back in motion, and drove through the gate.

“I'll go talk to Sergio, if you go talk to Cristiano,” Mesut said.

Fabio scoffed. “ _Now_?” he asked.

“Yes, now. And don’t try to talk your way out of it. If I am going to do it—you’re doing it as well,” he said resolutely.

Fabio sputtered. “You’re in love with Sergio—whereas I don’t even know what I am feeling for Cris,” he pointed out.

Mesut laughed. “That’s bullshit, and you know it. If you would just open up your heart for two seconds, it will burst open with _Cristiano_ ,” Mesut said, crossing his arms stubbornly.

Fabio shook his head, a small smile on his lips. “I doubt that,” he said.

Mesut waved his hands. “Anyways, we’re getting off topic. Are we going to do this or not?” he demanded.

Fabio peered outside his window, and he drove past Mesut’s house, stopping in front of Sergio’s.

“Fine, we’ll do it. You go to Sergio, I will go to Cristiano,” he said.

Mesut smiled complacently, and shook his hand. “Wish me luck,” he smiled nervously.

Fabio hugged Mesut tightly for a few seconds, rubbing soothing circles on his back. He pulled back a little, and placed his hands on Mesut’s neck, looking into his eyes. “It’s going to be all right, okay? Try to stay calm, and give Sergio some space if he wants it,” he said softly.

Mesut nodded, and pulled Fabio tight against his chest. “Why are you so smart? It’s not fair, we’re the same age,” he muttered in the crook of Fabio’s neck.

Fabio smiled, and looked at Mesut. “I’m not smart, Mes. I will only be smart if I follow my own advice—which is to go talk to Cris,” he sighed, dropping his eyes to his knees.

Mesut rubbed his hand reassuringly. “It’s going to be okay, Fab. You already know Cristiano loves you, but right now, you have to give yourself the time and the space to figure out what you feel for him,” Mesut smiled.

Fabio nodded, and shot his friend a crooked grin. “Now who’s the smart one?” he teased. Mesut opened his mouth to sputter, but Fabio automatically opened the passenger-door. “Go to him, before he goes to bed,” he simply said, nodding towards Sergio’s house.

Mesut nodded, biting his lower lip nervously. “I’ll talk to you soon, okay?” he said, as he got out.

Fabio nodded, and shot Mesut another smile. Mesut walked up the drive-way, and turned around one more time. Fabio lowered his window, not caring about the rain which was falling in his car.

“Get your ass to Cristiano’s!” Mesut yelled at him, before turning around again, as he walked up to Sergio’s door.

Fabio closed the window, and with a heavy heart he started the car again, driving away slowly.

 

Mesut’s knees wobbled as he stood in front of Sergio’s door. He looked down at the doormat which said welcome in five languages. It make him smile a little, and he brought his finger up to the doorbell.

He was fussing at himself in his head, almost didn’t realize as the front door opened.

Mesut had to catch his breath at the sight of Sergio. His friend was wearing grey trainers, a black shirt— _Mesut’s shirt_ —which hugged his muscled abdomen beautifully, and his hear was tousled.

“Mes, what are you doing here?” Sergio asked.

Mesut was taken aback by the tone in his friend’s voice. It was soft, broken, and nothing like his usual greeting which involved swearwords and love confessions all together. It made Mesut even more nervous than he already was.

“I wanted—to, to see if you were all right,” Mesut mumbled, looking down at his shoes.

Sergio shrugged, and in any other circumstance it would’ve looked careless, but the red rims of his eyes spoke the real truth. “Why wouldn’t I be?” Sergio asked, and Mesut felt like Sergio was further away from him than ever.

“Please, Sese. Let me in, so we can talk about this,” he asked, nearly pleading.

Sergio’s eyes spoke of hesitation, but he swung the door open wider, and Mesut stepped inside. He took off his soaked jacket, and kicked his shoes in the general direction of the rack. It was all so familiar to him that it nearly hurt him.

Sergio was still standing behind him, as he closed the front door. Mesut could smell his cologne, and it made everything hazy.

He turned around suddenly, and pushed Sergio against the front door, holding him there with his own body.

“What are you doing to my head?” he demanded, his voice sounding soft and broken, instead of forceful, like he wanted it to be.

Sergio rolled his eyes, but he didn’t struggle against Mesut’s body that was pinning his own against the door. “Mes, seriously. You’re not in the place to ask that. Not after tonight,” Sergio said, his voice still awfully calm  and distant.

Mesut bit his lower lip, panicking a little to find a way to break through Sergio’s though exterior. He did it before, and he could probably do it again, but tonight—the circumstances were different and he might not succeed. And where would that get him?

He was still holding Sergio against the door, but not with a lot of force anymore. “Why did you leave?” Mesut tried again, not losing eye contact with the Spaniard.

Sergio shrugged. A tiny, hardly-there shrug. “I don’t know,” he mumbled, shooting his eyes downward.

Mesut swore he saw cracks forming at the corners of Sergio’s stern face, and ducked a little to meet Sergio’s gaze again.

“Sergio, I need to know. Please, tell me,” he asked softly, his grip on Sergio’s sides loosened, and he grabbed Sergio’s wrists softly.

Sergio bit his lower lip, his appearance still hard and distant, but his eyes became softer. “It was the couples dance, Mes. It messed with my head,” Sergio admitted softly.

Mesut nodded encouraging, rubbing soothing circles in Sergio’s wrists. “Why?” he whispered.

Sergio sighed deeply, and suddenly, Mesut could hear the cracks. The calm look on Sergio’s face broke away, and a vulnerable, tender expression took its place.

“It was because of Fabio, Mesut. You two have been inseparable for the past month, and _I hate it,”_ Sergio said, a desperate and lost look in his eyes.

Mesut wanted to say something, contradict him, but Sergio went on.

“Every day, I _waited_ —“ Sergio’s voice broke, “—I waited for the announcement, that you were together. When you were with me, instead of Fabio, I already found myself wishing that _I_ was the one who could be _it_ for you,” Sergio’s lower lip wobbled.

Mesut sighed deeply, a clenching feeling tucked away in his heart.

“But I never was, and I never will be. Because deep down, you want someone like Fabio—mature and sophisticated. Not someone who drinks too much, gets carded too much, who spends his money irresponsibly. You don’t want _me_ ,” Sergio sighed.

Mesut put his index finger on Sergio’s red lips, silencing him.

He swiped it gently across his lower lip, to the stubbles on his jawline, eventually placing his hand in Sergio’s neck. He could feel the pulse of the vein against his hand.

“You’re right,” he whispered.

“We’re terrible together. If we would be together, you would kick off on the pitch every time someone would foul me. And I would punch you in the face when I am jealous, or angry at you. And if we get together—glasses will be thrown against the wall almost every week,” Mesut muttered.

Sergio cast his eyes downward, and Mesut could feel his sigh on his skin. He trailed his index finger to Sergio’s chin, lifting it up to look into his eyes.

“ _But I love you_ ,” he whispered.

“You make me feel alive, and wanted. And I need you in my life, as a friend or a lover or maybe even as my boyfriend. But know this, Sese. I love you.”

Sergio’s eyes were big in disbelief. “B-But—Fabio,” he choked out.

Mesut shook his head. “We’re friends, and only that. I should’ve—I really should’ve told you sooner. I’m an idiot, Sergio,” he sighed.

Sergio’s eyes were still huge, but Mesut felt the tension leave his body as Sergio was now leaning against the door for support.

Sergio didn’t say anything for a full minute. He was just staring at the wall over Mesut’s shoulder. When his eyes finally met Mesut’s again, they were tender.

“You’re a fucking idiot, you stupid,” he whispered.

Mesut smiled cautiously, entwining their fingers together. “I know, and I am sorry,” he sighed.

Sergio nodded slowly. “It’s okay… I guess. I mean, I’m not mad at you, Mesut. Just really confused right now,” he said, laying his head in his neck, leaning against the door.

Mesut nodded, and took a step back. “I understand, Sese. If you need some time, I will give it to you,” he said softly.

Sergio nodded. “I _do_ need some time—but I don’t want to spend it alone,” he said, looking at Mesut.

He reached out his hand, and pulled Mesut against his chest again. “How about we try and be friends for a while?” Sergio asked softly.

Mesut nodded slowly, raising his eyebrows to encourage Sergio to continue.

“I want to get to know you again—without the sex, without the drama. Just… you and me,” Sergio whispered, smiling a little.

Mesut smiled as well, and snuggled closer in Sergio’s arms, hugging him softly.

“Sounds perfect,” he whispered.

And in that moment—it actually was perfect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked it! Please review? (:


	12. And then it hit me in the face.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Mesut, it's now Fabio's turn to face his problem.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't like this chapter at all--wrote it last night because I couldn't sleep.  
> Sorry if it's not what you expected. <3

**Chapter 12**

“Fabio, my man! Where’d you go?” Pepe’s voice blared through the car. Fabio had been nervously biting his lower lip, clenching his hands around the steering wheel when his friend suddenly called.

Pepe sounded a little tipsy, and Fabio could hear voices in the background. “Mesut and I left early,” Fabio said, looking at his GPS. Six minutes, and he would be at Cristiano’s. He sighed deeply.

“Hey, what’s up? You okay?” Pepe asked worriedly.

“Yeah, fine,” Fabio mumbled.

Pepe scoffed. “You don’t talk like you’re fine. Does this have to do with the fact that Cristiano nearly barged out of the club tonight?” Pepe actually stated, more than asking.

“Yeah,” Fabio muttered, stopping in front of a red light.

“You’re going to see him now?” Pepe asked.

“Yeah,” Fabio said again, too nervous to keep up a normal conversation with his friend.

“Come on, Fab. It’s going to be all right. No need to panic,” Pepe said. Fabio wondered how his friend knew that he was nervous, they were talking for thirty seconds.

“I _am_ panicking, Pepe,” he said, sighing deeply.

“But why? Cris is probably not even angry. And when he’ll see you, he will be all smiles and forgiveness again,” Pepe said reassuringly.

“That’s the problem,” Fabio sputtered. “I can practically kill his dogs, and he would still love me! It’s unfair, Pepe. Why can’t he just be mad at me?”  he sighed.

Pepe was silent for a while. “You want Cristiano to be mad at you?” he eventually asked, sounding confused.

Fabio thought for a second, biting his swollen lower lip again. “It’s easier,” he mumbled.

“Why is that?” Pepe asked, still sounding unsure of what Fabio was talking about.

“It’s hard to be around him, Pepe. He’s so sweet, gentle and selfless.”

“He’s perfect,” Fabio whispered softly to himself.

“So why the fuck don’t you go after him?” Pepe sputtered, sounding like someone had just been told that 1+1 wasn’t 2.

“Because, Pepe! I don’t love him!” Fabio exclaimed, slapping his steering wheel with the palms of his hands.

“Oh, cut the bullshit, Fabio! You know you do—you’re just being a coward now,” Pepe said sharply.

“How the fuck am I being a coward?” Fabio bristled.

“Because,” Pepe stated, “Cristiano can give you everything you want. He could give you a family again, a strong shoulder in hard times. You know he can, Fab. Why are you shutting him out?”

Fabio sighed deeply, as he turned the car back in motion when the lights turned green. He stayed silent for a while, thoughts running through his head.

“Because I can’t live up to his expectations, Pepe,” he sighed, his eyes prickling.

“I’m not someone who you can have a family with. I have a kid, yeah. But I am not fit to be a good father and husband at the same time. Those are the last words Andreia said to me, and she is right,” he muttered.

On the other end of the phone, Pepe sighed in exasperation.

“Another load of bullshit and excuses—coming from those walls around you. Please, Fab. Just give Cristiano a chance. Give _yourself_ a chance—to be happy again with someone,” Pepe pleaded, his voice gentle.

Fabio shook his head lightly. “It’s wrong of me. I’m not allowed to picture a life together with Cristiano—because I will only end up disappointing him. You know how he looks when he’s disappointed, and I don’t want to be the one to cause it,” Fabio whispered, stopping in front of the gate of his own gated community. It opened after a few seconds, and he slowly drove up the lane.

“I know how he looks when he’s disappointed, Fab. But let me tell you something, okay? I want you to go to Cris tonight, and ask him if he would ever be disappointed in you. And if his answer is in the _fierce_ category of NO—then you have to let down your walls,” Pepe demanded.

Fabio let out a soft scoff. “And I should follow your orders, because…?” he asked, turning his car into his own driveway.

The rain was now loudly audible, as it tickled down onto the roof and the windows of the car.

“Just trust me, Fabio—and do what I say,” Pepe mumbled. “Please.”

Fabio sighed, still in doubt. He looked over at Cristiano’s house, where the lights were still on, warm and inviting.

“Okay, I will.”

\--- 

“Hey, Fab. Didn’t expect you here,” Cristiano said, as he opened the door.

Fabio raised his eyebrows. “No: _fuck off you idiot, go dance with Mesut_ now?” he asked. He wanted to bite his own tongue off after that remark, but—as always—Cristiano was not taken aback by his bluntness. Cristiano just shrugged.

“I should’ve expected it, so it wasn’t your fault,” Cristiano smiled. It was a sad smile, filled with so much love that Fabio felt guilty.

“Can I come in?” he asked.

Cristiano bit his lower lip, hesitating a little. “Promise not to mess with my head?” he asked. The casual tone missed the belief, and now it only sounded broken.

Fabio swallowed hard and nodded. Cristiano opened the door wider for him, and he stepped inside.

As he took his shoes off, Cristiano walked into the kitchen. “Want a drink?” he asked.

Fabio straightened his back again, after taking off his second shoe.

He looked at the large mirror in the hall. Pictures were tucked into the frame of the mirror, and Fabio smiled a little. There were pictures of Cristiano and CRJ on winter holiday in the Alps, both with red noses and sparkling eyes. Some pictures of the team in the locker room. Pepe and Marcelo being idiots.

There was another picture, tucked into the bottom corner of the mirror, and it was a little covered by the picture of Cristiano and his Ballon d’Or. Fabio lifted the corner of the picture, and breathed in sharply.

It was a picture of him and Vitória.

His lower lip wobbled, and he sucked it between his teeth to stop it. He looked at the picture again, slowly breathing out.

He shot out of his daze as Cristiano walked back into the hallway again, a questioning look on his face. “You okay?” he asked, looking from Fabio to the mirror. His eyes dropped to Fabio’s hand, tugging up the corner of his Ballon d’Or picture, revealing the rest of the picture underneath it. A blush crept to his cheeks. “Oh, yeah. Sorry about that. I—uhm, just really like that one,” he stuttered, looking at his feet.

Fabio swallowed hard, and he felt something bursting in his heart. It was warm, and it seeped through every vein in his body, making his fingertips tingle and his stomach flutter.

“It’s okay,” he choked out, overwhelmed by the rush of emotions flooding over him. “It’s a nice picture,” he whispered, turning away from the mirror.

Cristiano nodded quickly, and avoided Fabio’s eyes as he turned around, walking back into the living room.

Fabio followed him, and leaned against the kitchen table as Cristiano turned on the kettle for some tea. Silently, he followed Cristiano’s movements through the kitchen with his eyes. His strong shoulders were visible through his simple, white shirt, as he wiped the kitchen counter clean.

“Cris?” Fabio asked softly.

Cristiano stopped cleaning the counter and turned around. “Yes?” he replied.

Fabio fidgeted with his fingers, not meeting his friend’s eyes.

He heard footsteps and saw Cristiano coming closer. “Fab, what’s wrong?” he asked. The tone in his voice was special—that’s the only way to describe it. No one heard that tone except for CRJ and his mom, it was reserved for the people he loved most. Fabio knew that.

“I…” he started, blinking a few times. He looked up, meeting Cristiano’s eyes. The other Portuguese just smiled encouraging, his eyes soft.

“Cris, have you ever been disappointed in me?” Fabio blurted, shooting his eyes down as the last word left his lips.

Cristiano stayed silent, and Fabio carefully raised his eyes again, to meet Cristiano’s. His friend was just staring at him.

“Disappointed?” Cristiano blurted.

Fabio nodded, and opened his mouth to say something—but Cristiano cut him off.

“Of course not! Why would you think that, Fab? Out of all the people, I couldn’t never be disappointed in you,” Cristiano exclaimed.

Fabio opened his mouth again, but the winger continued.

“Are the newspapers saying that?” he demanded. “Because if they are, I will go and tweet right now that it isn’t true.”

Fabio kept shaking his head, but Cristiano just kept on rambling. Tears welled up in Fabio’s eyes as he saw the passion and the fire in Cristiano’s eyes.

Cristiano suddenly stopped. “Why are you crying?” he asked intently, stepping closer.

Fabio waved his hand in a dismissive motion, but Cristiano gently cupped his face, wiping away the first tear that left his eye.

“It’s, it’s okay. Cris,” Fabio whispered, covering Cristiano’s hands with his own.

The other Portuguese must’ve noticed the change in the way Fabio looked at him, because his lower lip wobbled a little. “Are you sure?” Cristiano asked.

Fabio nodded. “I’m sure—I’m fine,” he muttered, taking in every beautiful inch of Cristiano’s face.

 _Why didn’t I realize it sooner?_ he thought to himself.  This perfect, loving person, with his caring character.

_Why did I push him away?_

Another tear fell down, and worry settled back in Cristiano’s face, his brow furrowing cutely.

Fabio laid his head against Cristiano’s chest. “I’m so sorry, Cris,” he blubbered, clutching his hands in Cristiano’s shirt. Cristiano wrapped his right arm around him, his other hand was stroking Fabio’s hair.

“Shh, stop it. There’s nothing you did wrong, right?” he asked, a confused tone in his voice, because he didn’t know what the hell Fabio was crying about.

Fabio pulled back, and looked at Cristiano with his teary eyes. “I did everything wrong, Cris— _again_. Why, why didn’t I realize it earlier?” he demanded, shaking his head. 

Cristiano mimicked him in confusion. “Realize what, Fab?” he asked.

Fabio looked up, meeting Cristiano’s worried, brown eyes. “ _That I love you_ ,” he whispered.

Cristiano breathed in sharply, his expression freezing for a second. He studied Fabio’s face, which spoke of nothing else but honesty—and that one emotion he had missed all this time.

_Love._

“Really?” he asked, his voice hitching.

Fabio nodded fervently. “I—fuck, Cris. I’m so sorry for what I’ve put you through. But it’s true, I swear to God it’s true—I love you,” he said, not losing eye contact with Cristiano.

Cristiano didn’t say anything for a while, he just absentmindedly rubbed his thumb along Fabio’s cheekbone. “You have no idea how long I’ve waited to hear that,” he eventually whispered, leaning in.

Fabio’s eyes unconsciously dropped to Cristiano’s pink lips, before urging them up again to meet Cristiano’s eyes. “I know, and I will make it up to you,” he whispered, licking his lips as he felt Cristiano’s warm breath on them.

“How?” Cristiano asked.

Fabio smiled insecure, his cheeks turning pink. “Can you make love to me?” he asked softly.

Something burst in Cristiano’s eyes, emotions washing over his face. “Yes, I want to,” he whispered, entwining their fingers. He pulled Fabio tight against his body, closing the distance between them.

Cristiano’s lips were soft and familiar to him, going slow and gently. Fabio slid his hands around his waist, deepening the kiss as he tried to engulf all of his feelings into it.

Cristiano let out a small moan as Fabio slid his tongue in his mouth, twirling and exploring slowly. It was like their first kiss all over again, only now they both let their emotions run freely through their lips. No more holding back for both of them.

Cristiano stepped back, urging Fabio to move along with him. Kissing and touching each other, they made their way upstairs.

As Cristiano opened the door of his bedroom, he wrapped his fingers around Fabio’s wrist, gently tugging him inside.

Fabio’s fingers curled around the hem of the shirt, pulling it up. Cristiano raised his arms, allowing Fabio to take it off.

He let out a shaky breath as Fabio’s lips trailed feathery kisses along his torso. His eyes met Fabio’s, and he saw the dependent glance, all the emotions tucked away in them.

Fabio needed him. After all this time, it wasn’t just him who needed Fabio, but now—the feeling was mutual.

He cupped Fabio’s cheeks again, kissing his lips hungrier now. He wanted him, every part of Fabio was finally his now. He would stay.

The thought made his vision hazy as he took off Fabio’s shirt, and they moved towards the bed. Fabio sat down, and wriggled up to lay down with his head on the pillow.

Cristiano stood there, looking at him for a while. He took in Fabio’s beautiful body, desire and lust making their way into his heart, blending with the love.

Fabio’s body was by far the most beautiful body he had ever seen. It was because he loved him, and every inch of him as well. He took off his buckle, and noticed the way Fabio sucked his lower lip in, like it was the very first time he saw Cristiano's body. It did feel like that, and it made Cristiano all the more emotional.

He popped the button of his jeans open, slid them down his legs, and stepped out of them. The look of desire in Fabio’s eyes was something he never wanted to forget, and he walked over to the bed.

He hovered over Fabio’s body, pressing a small kiss on his lips. His right hand fiddled with the button on Fabio’s jeans, and a few seconds later, it dropped next to his own on the floor.

“Fuck, you’re so beautiful, Cris,” Fabio whispered, letting his eyes slide over Cristiano’s body. Cristiano lowered himself, their arousals rubbing together, eliciting deep moans from both of them. Fabio felt soft under his touch, gentle and tiny.

Cristiano lowered his head, licking a stripe along Fabio’s nipple. Another moan left Fabio’s mouth, and his back arched, wanting Cristiano to continue.

He took the small nub between his lips, his tongue swiping around it as he revelled in the sounds which left Fabio’s mouth. Fabio’s hand was in his hair, tugging it a little to urge him on. Cristiano raised his right hand to rub along Fabio’s other nipple, giving it the same love and dedication.

“God, Cris. Please,” Fabio breathed harshly. Cristiano swiped his tongue around the nub one last time, before pulling back again.

Fabio’s cheeks were flushed a deep shade of red, his eyes sparkling with fire. Cristiano softly slid his fingers down Fabio’s upper body, trailing around Fabio’s muscled abdomen.

He stopped at the waistband of Fabio’s boxers, looking up at him. The way Fabio bucked his hips of, biting his lower lip was everything Cristiano needed.

He clutched his fingers around the waistband, pulling it down and off Fabio’s legs. Fabio put his feet on the bed, raising his hips a little as he exposed himself for Cristiano.

“I need you,” he breathed, struggling to keep his eyes open.

Cristiano inched closer a little, and reached out his hand to grab the lube from underneath the pillow. He clipped the cap open, and squirted some on his fingers. He warmed it up in his hands, not losing eye contact with Fabio.

“Fabio, you’re so beautiful. You always are, but like this—exposed for me. It’s making me dizzy,” he muttered, leaning on his left arm.

He trailed one slippery finger along Fabio hole, and a gasp left Fabio’s mouth. “Cris, oh—please,” he begged, clutching his hands in the sheets tightly.

Cristiano adjusted his other arm, placing it alongside Fabio’s body, and lowered himself a little to be closer to him. He gently pushed one finger in, revelling in the way Fabio gasped, before bucking his hips to urge him to move. He slid it in further, wriggling it around.

“More,” Fabio choked, closing his eyes.

“Please, look at me, baby. I want to see you,” Cristiano muttered, pulling his finger out a little.

Fabio opened his eyes, and shot him a wobbly smile. “Sorry—it’s just.. You make me feel so good, so wanted. I’ll try,” he whispered.

Cristiano nodded, and dropped a feathery kiss on Fabio’s lips.

Without a warning, he slid two fingers inside, Fabio’s walls clenching around them as he let out a whimper. Cristiano’s fingers made scissoring motions, careful and thorough. When Fabio started pushing down onto his fingers, craving for more, he added another one.

He set a quick pace with his three fingers, curling them inside of Fabio’s body. When Fabio suddenly shouted out incoherencies, Cristiano knew he found his spot. He curled his fingers inside of him again, and for a second, all that was heard was Fabio’s harsh panting and writhing moans.

“Baby, please. I need you,” Fabio begged, struggling to keep looking at Cristiano. As Cristiano gently slid out his fingers, Fabio whined at the sudden loss.

He heard the rustle of fabric as Cristiano took his own boxer off, before coming between his legs again. He allowed himself to close his eyes for just a few seconds, as Cristiano squirted some lube in his hands.

When he opened his eyes again, Cristiano placed both of his hands on Fabio’s hips, pulling them upwards a little. In one, clean slide he pushed in, not stopping until he reached the hilt.

He remembered that from last time, how Fabio had liked that, and now again. Fabio was clenching the sheets, his shaking breath escaping through his gritting teeth. “God, Cris,” he moaned, arching his back to feel himself completely filled up.

Cristiano stayed still, and lowered his head. Their lips collided sloppily, but with so much passion that Cristiano had to pull back. His member was throbbing, and Fabio urged him to move.

He removed his hands from Fabio’s hips, and placed them on the sides of Fabio’s head, entwining their fingers as he pulled back slowly and thrust home again.

Fabio let out a long moan, the tone shaking as Cristiano pulled away again. He kept his eyes open throughout the whole time, to leave them to say the unsaid words between them.

His whole body was clinging to Cristiano, who increased his pace. Fabio’s walls clenched around him every time he thrust in, and he knew he couldn’t keep going like this for long. Not with Fabio looking at him like he was the only one in the world that mattered.

Fabio let out a high gasp as Cristiano hit the spot deep inside of him, and he arched his back off the bed some more, clenching his fingers around Cristiano’s.

“Cris, God—I’m gonna,” he choked, feeling the tension forming in his lower abdomen.

Cristiano thrust inside again, and lowered himself to catch Fabio’s lips again. They were swollen and wet with saliva. “Come for me,” he whispered against his lips.

Fabio let out a loud mewl, streaks of cum erupting between their bodies.

Fabio’s walls clenched around Cristiano in a torturing heavenly way, and Cristiano dug their hands deep in the matrass as he came hard, panting and gasping.

Fabio let out a happy sigh as Cristiano collapsed next to him, but not far away.

He turned to his side, watching the panting man next to him—the man he loved.

“Is it okay if I stay here tonight?” he whispered, pulling Cristiano’s hand to his mouth, and he pressed a kiss against the back of his hand.

Cristiano chuckled heartily, and rolled on his side as well. He tucked his leg around Fabio’s and pressed a kiss on his lips.

“I thought you’d never ask,” he muttered happily.

Fabio smiled, and closed the distance between them again. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please review? (:


	13. Let's go for a walk in the park.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mesut and Sergio go for a walk in the park.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!

First of all: take a look at Mesut's dog, Balbao.

so cute. <3

\------------------------------

**Chapter 13**

“Mesut, I feel like a twat,” Sergio deadpanned, looking down at Balboa. Mesut raised his eyebrows in question. Sergio motioned towards his black pug, who was toddling happily, his butt shaking a little.

“Why do you feel like a twat, it’s cute!” Mesut exclaimed, smiling idiotically.

Sergio slowly shook his head, and pulled his baseball cap downwards a little. He’d be damned if he would find a picture in Marca tomorrow, walking a fucking _pug_ with Mesut. “Why didn’t you get a manlier dog, like a German Shepherd? That way you could even communicate in your own language with him,” he asked.

Mesut just rolled his eyes, not daring to ask the question if Sergio was serious, because he knew Sergio wasn’t the brightest of the bunch. It wouldn’t be a surprise if Sergio really thought you could only speak in German to German Shepherd’s.

Sergio looked at the pug again, hiding his smile. Even though he thought Balboa was a ladies dog, she was cute but he would never say that out loud.

Mesut ducked his chin inside of his coat, tugging his hands deeper in his pockets. Even though it was a beautiful day, with the sun shining—it was still a little crisp outside. They were walking through the park, which was just about half an hour drive from their houses.

It wasn’t as busy here as in the rest of Madrid, and the paparazzi usually wasn’t around. There were families, walking with strollers and little kids on bikes. Old people, sitting on a bench next to each other, chattering all at the same time.

“What are you doing with that bag of bread that you’ve been carrying around for an hour now?” Sergio asked, tugging a little at the leash, because Balboa stayed behind to sniffle on a tree.

Mesut pointed towards the large pond in the middle of the park. “It’s for the ducks,” he said.

Sergio let out a soft scoff. “He’s going to feed the ducks… this is where it starts. Next thing you know, you’ll be handing out soup at a homeless shelter,” he teased.

Mesut just stuck out his tongue, and walked towards the edge of the pond, crouching down. “Here, duck duck duck,” he cooed to the ducks.

Sergio scratched the side of his head, looking around if no one saw them.

He bowed down, tugged Balboa’s leash around his ankle, and crouched down next to Mesut. “You know,” he said. “Ducks are just like women.”

Mesut stopped tearing pieces of bread, and looked at him. “Really, how so?” he asked, interested.

Sergio tried his hardest to keep his face normal. “Watch,” he simply said, turning towards a few ducks. Mesut looked expectantly at him.

“ _Anal_ ,” Sergio shouted at the ducks—who promptly half-flied, half-swan away, quaking loudly. “See? They run away as well.”

Mesut’s eyes got bigger than they already were, and a blush crept up his cheeks. “Are you insane?! There are children here!” he hissed, looking around him.

The only people who seemed to have heard Sergio was an old couple on a wooden bench. The woman looked disgusted at Sergio, which caused Mesut to chuckle. “You’re an immature child, but you’re right,” he smiled, pointing over his shoulder to the old lady who was still scrunching here face in disgust.

Sergio grinned complacently, as Balboa was tugging a little at the leash around his ankle.

Mesut turned back towards the ducks—well, _duck_. There was only one left. “That one’s not scared by anal,” he pointed out, throwing a piece of bread to the duck.

Sergio grinned. “That’s because her name is Mesut,” he stated.

“It’s not, idiot,” Mesut laughed, punching Sergio’s shoulder, causing the defender to lose his balance.

Sergio landed on his butt, and the leash around his ankle fell loose.

“Fuck, Balboa!” he exclaimed, as the pug happily ran away into her newfound freedom. He scrambled up, sprinting after the little dog—who ran pretty fucking fast may I add.

The leash was dangling over the ground, and Sergio increased his pace, careful not to step on it and choke the dog.

He stretched out his hands, fell to his knees and grabbed Balboa in one, swift movement. The dog was boggling at first, but when she saw that it was Sergio who’d grabbed her, she started licking his face happily.

Mesut came running towards them, making grabby hands at Balboa. “You stupid dog,” he said, but it came out like _I love you don’t ever leave me again._

Sergio scrunched his nose as Balboa started licking his cheeks. Mesut quickly took the pug into his hands, holding her up to look into her eyes. “What did I say about kissing stranger’s, huh?” he reprimanded.

“Since it’s _your_ dog—I’d say: ‘Kiss as many strangers as you can’ would be your lesson,” Sergio grinned, slapping some dirt off his knees.

“ _Hilarious_. But I’m not the one who lets a kid loose in a park,” Mesut muttered defensively, tugging Balboa close to his chest.

Sergio rolled his eyes. “It’s not a kid—it’s a dog,” he said slowly, as if Mesut was some kind of retard.

“To me, she’s my kid,” Mesut sputtered, as he took Sergio’s outstretched hand to pull himself off the ground. He tugged the leash tighter around his wrist, and bowed down to place Balboa back on the pavement.

Sergio smiled as Mesut smoothed out Balboa’s fur, taking out some strands of grass. He felt his stomach churning as he smelt food, and looked around to see where it was coming from. He saw a stall with hotdogs, and turned back towards Mesut, who was mumbling into Balboa’s ear. “You hungry?” he asked.

Mesut looked up and nodded. “Yeah, let’s grab a hotdog. Don’t think I didn’t see that ogling you just did,” he smirked.

Sergio grinned, and reached out his hands to Balboa. “Let me try and talk some sense into this munchkin here—so you can order,” he smiled.

Mesut nodded, and carefully placed Balboa in Sergio’s arms as they walked towards the stall. Sergio burrowed his nose in Balboa’s short fur, inhaling the fresh scent of grass and earth. Mesut smiled absentmindedly at them.

 

Fifteen minutes later, they sat in Sergio’s car, eating their hotdogs. “God, this is good,” Sergio mumbled, as he put the last piece in his mouth. He wiped his mouth with his napkin, before throwing it out of the window.

“Sese!” Mesut reprimanded, shaking his head.

“It bio—something. It evaporates in the nature,” Sergio sputtered.

Mesut laughed, shaking his head in amusement now. “It’s bio-degradable, you mean?” he asked.

Sergio nodded, leaning a bit over to his side to pat Balboa’s head. “Your dog’s pretty cute sometimes,” he mumbled, as Balboa licked some mustard off his finger.

“See, she grows onto everyone,” Mesut beamed, stretching out his hands to pick up his pug to place her on his lap. Balboa just made a soft sound, before laying her head flat and closing her huge eyes.

“She looks like you,” Sergio smiled absentmindedly.

Mesut raised his eyebrows. “You're saying I look like a dog?” he asked, an amused smirk on his lips.

Sergio rolled his eyes, and poked Mesut’s side gently. “I meant the eyes—they’re uhm… very beautiful,” he said, cheeks flushing pink. Mesut smiled at him, his fingers still stroking lightly through Balboa’s fur.

Sergio put the car in motion, and slowly drove out of the parking lot. “You got any more plans today?” he asked.

Mesut shook his head. “Not really, you?” he asked.

Sergio also shook his head, taking half a turn around the roundabout. “No. Do you want to watch the Real basketball game tonight?” he asked. The smile which broke through on Mesut’s lips made his inside flutter.

“The real thing, or at your place?” Mesut asked, looking at him through his lashes.

“The real thing of course,” Sergio grinned complacently. Mesut nodded before he even finished his sentence.

“I would love to.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to keep the endings open, so you can think of your own ending which you like best. If you either want Mesut and Sergio to stay best friends, or maybe spiral into a real relationship this time.
> 
> Thank you for reading this fic! (:


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